The breath of morning blew through the open window, and on it was a fragrance that was recognizable-

end

ce of so many memories. The floor groaned beneath his feet, and when he opened the door to

of his city friendships. The view before him was a living painting. Rows of lavende

, "The lavender doesn't jus

a smile to his face-

elds were a part of him, a part of this place, and he

jeans, soft and insistent, like hands reaching out to snag him. The bees hummed their slow, workaday tu

the world he'd known-schedules, skyscrapers, neon lights-grew quiet. Time went slower here. Or m

over the years, it was still standing. His grandmother used to sit there every evening, a

silence come to him.

pul

e than silence. Something waiting. Listening. Something in th

ght

e a summe

rned

ere sh

ar

oose knot, with a few strands rising in the wind. She was wearing a light linen gown that swirled about her knees

dden movement might shatter the

not trusting the s

eyes-gray-green, wide, and thoughtful. Sam

re gone for good,

ght you

between them. Not

nearer. "I got

e said. "Cla

s news like pollen-carried on breezes, passe

ted to see you

aid, her eyes searchi

e blooming earlier this year. The gr

s voice low. "Th

he edges touched by somet

e, side by side. The wind whipped around them, teasing her

, really?" she as

to get away. The city.

e never did. That was part o

tween her fingers. "Your grandmother taught me to plant these," she said to him. "

ed. "She always said lavend

o you'd best be gentle. It rem

that was all it needed. That electricity-ye

field undulating around them

said quietly. "The

nt slip away. "Wil

. "Only if

s light and sure along the winding

ew, the stem of lavender still grasped in his hand.

hat he noticed som

ded, lying exactly wh

heart suddenly un

en in looping,

ade. They bloom agai