When Winter Blooms
"And then I said I didn't have the right word yet, which I realised about four seconds later was your line."
He was quiet for a moment. Then, low and surprised: "You used my line."
"Apparently it got into me."
He smiled.
"There's something," he said quietly. He pointed — a small pale green thing, barely there, a thread of something pushing up through the dark surface of the planter. Not a worm this time, something else. Something that had been seeds in November and cold ground in January and was now, in March, doing the thing it had been doing all along without anyone watching.
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