Taking a less direct route home one morning she passed a front yard consumed with floral beauty. Upon seeing her, a brown-kneed elderly gentleman arose and greeted her.
“Good morning, Miss, I don’t believe you remember me.”
She turned, looking up at him. “No, I don’t believe I do.”
“You gave me a basket several years ago down on the corner. With a little care and transplanting it has produced what you see here.”
“You certainly have a green thumb, your yard is absolutely gorgeous. I am honored to be a small part of it.”
She turned to continue down the street. She had taken a few steps when he cleared his throat and asked, “Would you like to come and share in the abundance?”
She stopped, then looked back. First, at his face, then into the clouds above. Her gazed slowly descended until it met his eyes.
“I can’t . . .
I’ve given away too much of myself to be comfortable here.”