Bouquet: Flash Fiction by K. S. Moore

The pale yellow, shell-like construction of a daffodil . . .

daffodil and catkins.

My niece presents me with the flower, along with a handful of catkins.  The catkins draw my senses with their animal texture and my heart twists.  This pure gesture stands out as my world continues to revolve with change.  I take a sheet of blank paper, arrange the flowers, like a sketch.  Every element has a shadow.  I note the light and the darkness, capture them with my camera.

Afterwards, I run out into the fields, in search of yellow, further signs of spring.  A watery sun is better than no sun and the air moves me.  My niece dances in the long grass, her gold hair spilling out from the confines of her hairband.  She’s too young and wild for me to catch, so I settle for lagging behind, careful not to let her out of my sight.

“We should go home now,” I say.  “You can have jam and bread for tea.”

But, although I can still see her, it’s as if she’s running beyond me, in a place where the grass has become part of her and we are no longer connected.

Note: This flash fiction piece was written at a Write Club Meeting over the weekend.  I was inspired by receiving flowers from my niece, which are shown in the picture above.


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