“I promised her!” K mouths to me as L thumps up the stairs to brush her teeth, disheartened by my casual dismissal of her idea to go down to the blooming azalea and pick some flowers to take to school. “You can just get some from our neighbors’ azalea in their front yard,” I said just moments earlier. They’re out of town, but I knew they wouldn’t mind: they’re like long-lost family to the Girl.
“I’m not tromping down through the cold, wet leaves and grass to pick blooms for her when she can walk fifty feet…”
A few minutes later, I’m pulling small clumps of blooms from the bush, excited about the foggy early morning that promises a sunny mid-morning.
An hour later, the prophecy is fulfilled.