About a month after Gran died, I
noticed the bright green leaves sprout in the depression of my lawn where I am
sure the city’s sewer line has eaten away at the Yazoo clay lying beneath.
Decay brings forth life every time, doesn’t it? I had just gotten off work, and
it was April when the weather is either furious or loving. The days had begun
to get longer because we had already sprung forward with daylight savings time
and it had not yet gotten so humid that you could feel the air lay on your
skin. This evening, the air was perfectly benign.
I passed by the plant when I skirted
the depression so I wouldn’t break my leg again and clicked my heels on the
sidewalk so that any grass or mud that they had gathered would knock off. I
bent down to pet Sammy’s black coat. He was my dearest friend. He blinked his
golden eyes at me and purred a meow like he was saying he was as glad to see me
as I was to see him. It is nice to be greeted by someone happy to see you, even
if they really just want you to feed and pet them.
