As the flowers begin to wilt

I think I might have forgotten to water the plants yesterday and tonight they look at me quite balefully as I ascend the porch steps.  I shake my head, mentally promise them that I’ll come back, and fall through the door.  Bag on the floor; shoes next to the rocker; sweater on the chair.  An exhausting day’s end.

I know that I’m hungry and stick my head in the fridge, wondering what’s left that’s edible.  Thankfully, it’s trash night; and the leftovers go into the bag and onto the curb.  This leaves an omelet, my standby.  I crack a couple of eggs and try to ignore the symbolism.

Now the house grows silent and I feel the reproach of the flowers which have begun to wilt on the front porch.  I draw a long sigh.  I remember, then, the wild and unexpected kindness of my friend Jessica who threw herself together to come sit and comfort me early this morning over coffee.  Her inspiration sends me out to the porch with a full water bucket.  My step resists a light-hearted bounce, but even so, I feel better.

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