The yard fills in early spring with weeds that have flown in on the coastal breeze from nearby wildlands, the purslane and sowthistle greens that grow up through the sandy soil where cultivated grass never seems to survive. Charles ignores the growing leaves, imagines he’ll deal with them over spring break or maybe finally hire a gardener. The weeds grow without maintenance, watered by the coastal fog. One of the weeds shoots up taller than the rest, a Redwood compared to a Japanese Maple. Charles considers chopping it down, but the stalk is thick. He comes home from work one day, and the tall weed has transformed from a weed into a brilliant sunflower, open to the sky, it’s petals golden and warm on a rare sunny day. He does not know how the sunflower got into the yard, perhaps a gift from a bird or squirrel who left it behind.
***
Lilly hurried Jack to wash his hands and put on his shoes. He threw a tantrum that morning, crying about missing Mick, and she had lost her cool. Her father took Jack by the hand and guided him out to the garden, where the pair planted a variety of sunflower seeds.
“When do the flowers show up?” he asked.
“We have to be patient, mijo,” her father said. “Flowers take time to find their way, but they’ll get there.”
He was full of dirt when he came inside, had calmed.
At the spring party, Jack ran with the other kid’s, veering toward Charles’ backyard and back. Lilly let him stray, but kept an eye on him. No one saw him toss sunflower seeds over the fence, setting through one season unchanged, only to bloom the next.
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