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“Today, each time I looked at the house, I could see danger seeping out the windows like smoke. As night fell, I concentrated on the mounds of purple, white, and pink flowers that clustered against the siding: sweet peas that came back this time of year no matter how neglected. The petals were confused; they grew every which way out of their long stalks and emerged as butterfly wings rather than flowers. Now in the looming blackness, I watered the hydrangeas with their tiny white buds-blooms that patiently waited for a petal to fall so another could take its place. It would take a hundred years to count all the buds on a hydrangea bush. They just never gave up.” — Valerie Dunsmore
Today, each time I looked at the house, I could see danger seeping out the windows like smoke. As night fell, I concentrated on the mounds of purple, white, and pink flowers that clustered against the siding: sweet peas that came back this time of year no matter how neglected. The petals were confused; they grew every which way out of their long stalks and emerged as butterfly wings rather than flowers. Now in the looming blackness, I watered the hydrangeas with their tiny white buds-blooms that patiently waited for a petal to fall so another could take its place. It would take a hundred years to count all the buds on a hydrangea bush. They just never gave up.