Читать книгу Falling Out Of Bed - Mary Schramski - Страница 9

Second Week in October

I’ m on my knees by the oak tree. For my forty-second birthday my father sent me fifteen daffodil bulbs from a mail-order catalog. I don’t garden, so after I opened his gift I walked down to Elizabeth’s house and asked her how to plant them.

She smiled, patted my shoulder. “Dig really deep, Melinda. Then wait for miracles to appear in the spring.”

I looked at the bulbs. “All that from daffodils?”

“Oh, they’re more than that. They prove there’s always hope.” Then she reached inside the box, touched one of the rough woodlike seeds and looked at me. “We all need hope.”

I shook my head, laughed. “I guess you’re right, but my life’s pretty wonderful right now. I’m not sure why my father sent me these. Maybe I’ll find out someday.” I closed the box, gave her a hug and walked home.

The telling autumn breeze washes over me and I stare at the daffodil bulb in my palm. The tiny orb looks so dark against my skin. How can something so hard and ugly produce a delicate flower?