The Distant Garden
The ferns died on a Tuesday. I was sitting at my desk, the fluorescent lights humming their flat, gray tune, when I saw it. The large potted fern in the corner of the office, the one my mother had planted in the soil three years ago, its fronds now brown and brittle like old paper. I reached out and touched a leaf. It crumbled into dust under my thumb. I looked around the room. The other plants...
0 Kommentare 0 Geteilt 2 Ansichten 0 Bewertungen