Petunia — Bloom Time

She leaned close, her eyes narrowing. “No,” she whispered. “It’s waiting.”

“The petunias need deadheading,” Elara said, handing him a small pair of snips. Her hands were maps of veins and wrinkles, her eyes the same purple as the flowers. petunia bloom time

He knelt beside the petunias, snipped a withered bloom, and smiled. She leaned close, her eyes narrowing

Elara understood what most people forgot: a petunia does not bloom for a season. It blooms for an appointment. Her hands were maps of veins and wrinkles,

He ran to the porch to tell Elara, but she was already there, sitting in her rocker, looking at the defiant petunia. She wasn't crying. She was watching the flower as if it were a clock hand that had stopped.

He felt a strange jolt. It was more reliable than his school bell. More honest than the buffering wheel on his game.