He was always there, the storyteller in the hallway. He’d stop you before you could make it to your apartment to tell you of a time when flowers grew. If your kids were with you, it was even more painful than it was already for you, since the kids had virtually no idea what a flower was. There were all sorts of holograms, even scented versions of them, but the kids would never understand a flower. A flower. It was immense, every time, hearing his little tale about the petals, the stamen, the way they would move in the breeze and the way their scent would waft in that same breeze. He never failed, too, to make you cry with the way he described a flower’s wilting. You imagined that with the fading of that single daisy, after its quiet war with the elements, that all flowers would melt away and be gone for good. Well…they did, and they are, but not because of that daisy. At least we don’t think so.
Love the Dust 
Oh I love that.
LikeLiked by 1 person
Thanks, Paula. I hope your days have plenty of beautiful scents.
…and that your editing and own work is coming along splendidly.
Joy to you!
LikeLike
Shh… don’t tell anyone but its been accepted. I shall post about it soon, my dear friend 💖💖
LikeLike
Glory glory! How wonderful! I await it with glee.
ChrysantheMum’s the word. 🤫 💕
LikeLiked by 1 person
You’re a star, my dear friend. I’m working on an online interview the publisher will post on their site. Ten questions. Now I’ve got to make it an interesting read, with an updated photo of myself. Oh hmm, I like to hide behind the camera rather than stand in front. 😎
LikeLiked by 1 person
The only way I can properly get in front of a camera is to…ignore the camera!
I wish you the best in this, though I know you will shine, fellow star!
LikeLiked by 1 person