It was just a season
beginning of winter
It was cloudy. My grandmother’s hair was greasy; I had to use four pumps of shampoo to clean it properly. I used to enjoy her silvery hair when I was little, it shined like a jewel in the sun. I took her mane of now white hair and brushed it carefully. She touched my hand and whispered something that I could not hear. She had a beautiful garden, with flowers that bloomed in every season. I used to hide from everyone behind her while she was pruning her trees; I felt protected and somehow bigger. I took her out of the bathtub and wrapped her under a rough towel. It was cold so we took a soup for lunch, lit the fireplace and shared an orange.
ending of winter
It was still cloudy. Grayish days. Tiny snowflakes making circles turned into thin layers of snow. There was a brief lull so I decided to step out of my house and shovel the snow off my entryway. I dug into some bushes, and there it was, a single rose. I could hear my neighbors' children playing. I felt her.