On a sun blessed morning in early spring, she is leaning on her shovel, surveying her sleeping garden and picturing the promised wonder of days to come. Spiking red and yellow hollyhock, exotically reminiscent of hibiscus. Wisteria, twisting and sagging under the weight of fragrant heliotrope blooms. Hyacinth flowers, perfectly arranged like pyramids of miniature grapes, and the blushing faces of pink coneflower-such a delightful contrast to the amusingly ferocious faces of the orange snapdragon.
Plunging the tip of the spade sharply into the soil, near the base of an awakening peony whose tender new leaves are just beginning to peek out between last season’s dead stalks-she carves the plant, roots and all, from the earth. Her sobs are mixed with apology. “I’m sorry,” she sniffles. “But lettuce, tomatoes, peas-they are what matter now.”
She pulls a flower festooned handkerchief from the back pocket of her overalls, blows her nose a little too loudly, and laughs lightly at her cacophonous honking and snorting. “Perhaps my nose ought to be classified as a secret weapon!” Someday though, she promises herself-someday, when this war is over, she will sow the seeds that she gathered last summer, an archive of what was, and must only be remembered for now. She notes the blossoms on her sodden hankie, and the significance does not escape her.
This piece of fiction was inspired by the prompt WONDER.