The slender, sun-dappled leaves of the orange crocosmia sway in the summer breeze, clapping their verdant hands, rejoicing in the summer day. I breathe deeply of the air, the mood, the ambience. This is summer: slow and languid, gentle and lovely. It's how it should be, but not how it has been. Instead, interruptions of tragic phone calls, funeral, and tears. Heaviness where frivolity should reign. Hotels and rental cars in place of lazy boredom in the heat.
But God's blessing comes in the waving crocosmia. In the warm sun on my face. A cold beer. A kiss on the temple before sleepy eyes greet the day.
We are not together anymore, but those who remain will speak more boldly. Embrace more readily. Breathe summer air and gaze intently at the dancing crocosmia while it's in bloom...
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