(c) A Planted Kind of Sadness [PG]

Light was melting upon the windowsill, rainbow prisms dancing without will, gold flecks refusing to remain still, upon the mount of damp leaves on its ledge. The day was awakening with a shallow rise, cascading moons were yawning in lieu of blue skies, the sleep was ghosting from squinty eyes, and heat was playing with the fragrance of early spring. Little seeds beneath encased earth were pleading, their little stems and little roots in need of sprinkling, so a handful of sun and a trickle of water came pouring, a woman bearing gifts for her children.

She had brown hair and was about twenty-three, and she never had any babies you see, her body was too frail for any pregnancy, and she has had her share of stillbirths for a while. There was a man who shared the covers every night, strange as they were you'd never see them fight, but he went away and served his country in flight, and he died and he left her more alone than before. They've always wanted to fill up the hole, gaping in their lives and throbbing in their souls, laughter and innocence could have made them whole, they wanted a family but a family needed a child. No one had ached for a babe more than they did, but after four failures and four dead kids, they realized that it was time to concede, and filed the papers for a young one that wasn't theirs.

The clouds were murky when she received the letter, and in the end it was the rain-tears that met her, because a real home also needed a father, and no one else could have filled that place. A month passed and she was staring at his grave, knowing him and hoping she could've been as brave, and she was mourning the lives she didn't save, when she saw something upon his corner stone. A tiny thing, two leaves and a hollow stem, struggling to make it in a way that can't be condemned, and as promise planted itself inside her then, she cupped the soil where it grew and brought it home. She tended to it and added another one, never slept a wink unless she was ever done, cared for them like the family that was all gone, and before long she was surrounded by green.

She never thought to keep them in a garden, or to buy flowering buds that may or may not ripen, for she never could lose another precious one again, and she only picked those that no one else did. Soon they flourished and made their mommy proud, unfolding in colors so bright and so loud, streaked with sunbeams or swaddled in shroud, they filled the house with a warmth she had forgotten. She missed him every minute of every day, and she missed the children who never got to play, but all her seedlings blossomed while they were away, and she never thought her love was ever in vain. She traced a fingertip up a healthy coiling vine, smiled as she thought how it was getting along fine, teared up when she realized, 'you are mine,' and she sniffled softly when it seemed to grin back at her.

A Thank You to the primrose, the azalea, the violet, an I Love You to the silent babies she never met, an I Miss You to the husband she would never forget, and she pulled the chopsticks from her hair to set it free. And that was how it ended and how it began, a chorus of angels and an irreplaceable man, a solitary sprout in an empty powdered milk can, her entire life documented on the veins of each vibrant leaf. Maybe she isn't too happy but she also isn't sad, because if anything her heart would say it's glad, simply content about the life she always had, because she knows that even tomorrow, upon the mount of damp leaves on its ledge, gold flecks would refuse to remain still, rainbow prisms would dance without will, and light would melt upon the windowsill.