I always think of you, when I stand among the daffodils. The way their heavy heads bob on the breeze reminds me of when you agreed with me that one time. Do you remember?
I think we were driving to Niagara Falls. It was the first really warm day and the humidity was rising out of the ground from the rainfall we’d had earlier that morning. I remember that little detail, because, as I got into the car I stepped in a puddle and soaked my left sock… or was it the right one? No matter.
Anyway, we were on the QEW, approaching Burlington and the sun was coming up. It shone in the rearview mirror and just about blinded me and I said, “It looks like it’s going to be a nice day.”
That was when you nodded, and I thought of the daffodils.
And then we hit the patch of oil on the bridge. It was a long drop.
I miss you, mostly because it ended so perfectly.
4 thoughts on “Drop”
This is really heavy, Linda. Beautifully written.
Thanks, Thomas. I actually almost slid off a bridge on the way home from Niagara Falls, only it was freezing rain. That was about 30 years ago now, but it’s been on my mind, haunting me, ever since.
I liked this a lot since it talks to me of ironic circumstances. “Ended perfectly.” Yes it did.
Thank you very much, John. I’m glad you picked up on that.