Whispers of Lavender

an's Departure

rs of

ration of tires rolling over pavement and neon lights glinting off glass. W

ng with his late mother. "Hale & Vine" stood in delicate letters above the entrance-still unmarred by t

ms had v

f. Ethan remained rigid for what seemed like forever, his hands buried deep in his coat pockets, hi

n of him. Hollowed. Removed. Detac

head, gentle but firm. "You can't grow w

reason that h

no people on the streets at this time, just the blue pre-dawn light seeping into the streets like a mist. T

ime. In it, there was a handwritten letter from his grandmother. The last letter she e

ead

ed your footsteps back, and the

d in years. But

her. Not just

r

ose among deadlines, coffee shops, and the

dens and words and the way that stor

n front of him in huge, soft clouds of gold and lilac. The road grew tighter, curled a

the smell of childhoods outlined on fences and whispered around creeks. He rolled down the w

it was: Th

ven in the harsh, early spring. Lavender swayed like poetry in motio

The house was just as he remembered it-whitewashed, the shutters slightly askew, the porch swing

ill s

cent of cedar an

ned pages like untamed vines. She wrote with the window ajar, assuring that the w

knows where it lef

he diary re

st with her own cherished poetry, then maybe the ones he might try to write. The ones he'd never have the time to write i

w and across the field where

gi

woman

halo. She looked out over the valley as if she belonged. As if the land spoke to her. She did not lo

seen her

it be.

d. Brought the

his way, Ethan could have sworn

na

o

ili

r been turned und