out among the roses
The still of morning was stark as she walked around her garden, chatting to each plant, admonishing some and encouraging others.
She recalled the dream of last night, when, quite naturally, each plant chatted back to her. They were not philosophical and they certainly weren’t aware of any current affairs. It was lovely all the same. The words they used to describe the sun left her imagination spinning. She’d had this dream before. Over and over.
On less happy days, she guessed that it amounted to loneliness on her part.
On the more peaceful, whimsical days, she imagined it was no dream, but them reaching out to her. Speaking to her and comforting her.
She sighed, went back inside and closed the door.
As she went, the wind changed direction and the plants bent towards her, waving her on her way.