Wednesday, May 7, 2008

A Memory

Greg arrived home from his class. It was a Monday. In his hand, he held two branches from an apple tree in full bloom. The blossoms were huge and fragrant, light pink in color, and giant, pregnant, dark-pink buds peeked from beneath the petals.

"I pulled these off a tree at UMass, " he said, as he arranged them in a giant, wine-bottle holder of a vase. "I wanted the house to smell beautiful when we brought our baby home."

Two days later, we arrived home.
The house smelled ripe with the apple blossoms.
All I could think of was the young, sweet, hopeful dad plucking them off the tree, his heart full of so much love, which was now crushed at his ankles, irretrievable.
There was no baby, and the flowers continued to bloom.
Their smell would have seemed mocking, had it not been so steeped with love.

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