Grandma’s garden came alive again.
The garden had found its shape again.
One Saturday, I arrived and found Kelsey already kneeling beside the peonies, pulling weeds.
A little girl from a nearby cottage reached toward one of the flowers.
Kelsey gently stopped her.
“Careful.”
“Why?” the child asked.
Kelsey smiled.
“Because somebody loved that flower long before we did.”
I stood quietly on the porch.
For the first time since Grandma died, the yard no longer felt frozen in the past.
It felt alive.
Grandma always said flowers were better
