I check the time: it’s four o’clock. Overhead the sky alternates between shades of bleakness. The wind blows and it rattles the corrugated tin shed. The wooden beams creak. I see flowers shaking, clinging tightly to their mothers. Some of them are dislodged and spin and whirl without a care. Petals fall to the ground like congratulatory confetti.
My eyes are misty, but I blink back the tears. I force myself to exhale: because, right now, not even the simple act of breathing comes naturally. I need to go back inside, but I don’t want to. I don’t want any of this.
But today is not about what I want—today is about what the Universe wants to take away.
The earth reclaims its fallen flowers.