Begonia

The peonies were a hand’s turn past perfection. Instead of the tight, round folds Holly had expected, the flowers flared outward like grandparent arms open for a hug. The petals had become papery as their veins dried out in the sun, and as they curled back, the canary pollen rods below were exposed. Even if …

The Park Worker

You stood under the covered area listening for frogs. For all the fit winter had thrown, summer had come fast and summer had come hard. The frogs croaked in lulling hush tones having their own renaissance in the honeysuckle marsh. The dragonflies hovered sleepily over the fishing pond and every so often, one dipped into …