I went through the garden slowly; the air was full of fragrance: Lilac, Jasmine, Juniper. Laughter echoed through my memories. Just through the garden stood a wooden Gazebo; worn and repainted and very quaint looking. As I approached it, I heard a faint sobbing and stopped a few paces shy of the steps. Dark clouds on the horizon, and more memories flood. It had always struck me funny how the flowers smelled so much sweeter before the storm.

“Sandy?” I said it very softly, but she heard me and her head soon appeared over the railing; eyes reddened, cheeks ruddy and moist.

“Hey, Jason,” she forced out a small smile.

“How are you holding up?” I moved up into the small structure and sat down next to her. Her mother was less than an hour in the ground, her father ten years buried. They had nearly been my own.

“I always loved the Lilacs.” She sat up a bit and looked out into the garden. “They played hell with mom’s allergies, but she never got rid of them. Maybe they were just too pretty.”

“Maybe she kept them around because you and your father liked them so much,” I said. The Lilacs were overwhelming and the storm was nearly upon us.

lightning arcs the sky
as children jump in puddles;
rain kissing their cheeks.

No related posts.