Sunday Scribblings Post-Prompt "Blossom"
Blossom
He's grown to know me. He knows that I'm not much for jewelry or flowers, or, at least, that I don't much care for flowers as gifts. Fortunately, in his eyes, this doesn't make me a difficult woman.
Surprisingly, he's the type who likes to let me know that he's been thinking of me. What challenges him is trying to figure out ways to make those typical “go to” gifts that take the thought out of presents and turn them on their heads, so that I will enjoy them. Whenever we can, we travel together, but we can't always.
He had to leave for a tradeshow before I got up. When I get out to the kitchen to make myself some oatmeal, there's a present waiting for me on the table. There's a piece of paper, well away from anything that would leave water spots or rings that would ruin it. The page has been torn from his sketchbook. It's thick, with high tooth and it's covered from edge to edge in bright colored pencil.
I smile. He's drawn me a snapdragon, one of the vibrant sunset peach ones with a brilliant sunshine yellow center that I plant in the flower box in the summer. Curled around the flower's stem, taking advantage of the meager shade is a tiny, perfect dragon. It's watching a ladybug with lazy interest.
It's signed and dated, a lopsided heart drawn in one corner. Later on in the day, I send him an e-mail and tell him it's beautiful and how much I miss him.
He's grown to know me. He knows that I'm not much for jewelry or flowers, or, at least, that I don't much care for flowers as gifts. Fortunately, in his eyes, this doesn't make me a difficult woman.
Surprisingly, he's the type who likes to let me know that he's been thinking of me. What challenges him is trying to figure out ways to make those typical “go to” gifts that take the thought out of presents and turn them on their heads, so that I will enjoy them. Whenever we can, we travel together, but we can't always.
He had to leave for a tradeshow before I got up. When I get out to the kitchen to make myself some oatmeal, there's a present waiting for me on the table. There's a piece of paper, well away from anything that would leave water spots or rings that would ruin it. The page has been torn from his sketchbook. It's thick, with high tooth and it's covered from edge to edge in bright colored pencil.
I smile. He's drawn me a snapdragon, one of the vibrant sunset peach ones with a brilliant sunshine yellow center that I plant in the flower box in the summer. Curled around the flower's stem, taking advantage of the meager shade is a tiny, perfect dragon. It's watching a ladybug with lazy interest.
It's signed and dated, a lopsided heart drawn in one corner. Later on in the day, I send him an e-mail and tell him it's beautiful and how much I miss him.