Many things changed that year.
By the time I was strong enough to follow the mountain creeks, it was nearly autumn.
By then, I had spent a long time thinking and I was sick of my head and the endless replays of no-longer possibilities.
So I walked.
I was a long time walking, longer I think than my memory now glosses over.
The small meadow formed where the trees had been downed by the winter storms was a welcome surprise.
The greater trees had fallen, but the stubborn columbine had risen above their carcasses.
I spent some time watching the light play over their blooms before I turned and left.
Despite their delicacy, their small windows of opportunity, the columbine never ceased to reach for the unattainable sun.
Neither have I.
This week of the Darling Buds brought to you by nostalgia, Victorian flower meanings, and the letter “Y.” As in, “No, there’s no real reason ‘Y’.”
Resolution, sun, and determined plants are also found in my fantasy novel, The Guests of Honor. It is available here.