Finding Flowers

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She stops every time we see a baby. She calls to it and smiles. She picks flowers from gardens or off the sidewalk.

Her favorite color is “golden” these days. For the way it shines. Walking through the cemetery with her, I carry the heaviness of grief and loss and death. She sees that too. But she mostly sees sculpture and geese and flowers.

She holds snails and memorizes their shells. She talks about the clouds and nature and trees that are different.

Maybe it’s because she’s a city kid. I don’t know.

Sometimes I think I see life through a lens of failed expectations. I just wait for things to go wrong. She will too, some day. As we all do. But for now, her lens always finds the flowers.

Author: Casey

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