“I love the light this time of day,” she said to nobody in particular. She loved the way the sunlight bounced off the leaves and made them look like they were glowing. She loved the feeling of warm sunlight on her face as she breathed in the fresh forest air.
The sound of dirt crunching under her old white Converse gave her comfort. She always thought it was peaceful being out in the woods by herself. Most days she would come out here to think and pick wildflowers. She liked the purple ones in particular, and the smell of them reminded her of honey and happiness.
As she made her way, she saw dozens of them and gingerly picked one and gently put it behind her ear. As she did, a brief memory flashed before her of her mother doing the same thing when she first brought her to this place. She remembered her mother saying, as she tucked the flower behind her ear, “‘Flowers are the music from the ground. From Earth’s lips spoken without sounds,’” quoting her favorite author. She remembered how her mom looked so happy, the sun shining down on her like a spotlight.
The memory passed and a small tear trickled down her face. She bent down and picked one more of the flowers, twirled it in her hand, and kept walking. She followed the sun’s rays until she got to a clearing where the rays were all in one big circle. It was beautiful, and she had never seen anything like it. It was like millions of tiny diamonds of all colors sparkling. It made everything feel magical.
She stepped into the middle of the circle and she felt her whole body warm. She laid down in the middle of the circle and closed her eyes. She listened to the birds singing and the leaves blowing in the wind. It was the most beautiful chorus, every sound was part of one exquisitely beautiful song.
She laid there and listened to the song for hours until the sky turned beautiful shades of amber and golden. When she finally got up from the circle, she realized there were dozens of purple wildflowers surrounding the circle she was lying in. They had not been there before.
She knew her mother had sent them. She rose from the ground and placed the purple flower she had picked earlier in the middle of the circle and whispered, “I love you,” and she knew, by the way the wind picked up, and the flowers swayed in the breeze, that her mother had heard her.
The sound of dirt crunching under her old white Converse gave her comfort. She always thought it was peaceful being out in the woods by herself. Most days she would come out here to think and pick wildflowers. She liked the purple ones in particular, and the smell of them reminded her of honey and happiness.
As she made her way, she saw dozens of them and gingerly picked one and gently put it behind her ear. As she did, a brief memory flashed before her of her mother doing the same thing when she first brought her to this place. She remembered her mother saying, as she tucked the flower behind her ear, “‘Flowers are the music from the ground. From Earth’s lips spoken without sounds,’” quoting her favorite author. She remembered how her mom looked so happy, the sun shining down on her like a spotlight.
The memory passed and a small tear trickled down her face. She bent down and picked one more of the flowers, twirled it in her hand, and kept walking. She followed the sun’s rays until she got to a clearing where the rays were all in one big circle. It was beautiful, and she had never seen anything like it. It was like millions of tiny diamonds of all colors sparkling. It made everything feel magical.
She stepped into the middle of the circle and she felt her whole body warm. She laid down in the middle of the circle and closed her eyes. She listened to the birds singing and the leaves blowing in the wind. It was the most beautiful chorus, every sound was part of one exquisitely beautiful song.
She laid there and listened to the song for hours until the sky turned beautiful shades of amber and golden. When she finally got up from the circle, she realized there were dozens of purple wildflowers surrounding the circle she was lying in. They had not been there before.
She knew her mother had sent them. She rose from the ground and placed the purple flower she had picked earlier in the middle of the circle and whispered, “I love you,” and she knew, by the way the wind picked up, and the flowers swayed in the breeze, that her mother had heard her.
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