The Black Wolf
As if he was trying to hold on to something slipping through his fingers.
Later, he made lunch, and after we ate, he suggested something simple, “Let’s go to the garden,” he said. “You can read to me. One of your stories.”
I agreed with a nod, and we walked to the garden, where a great sakura tree stood in full bloom. Its pink blossoms fluttered gently in the breeze like snow caught in sunlight. I sat beneath its shade, surrounded by vibrant blooms, jasmine, bellflowers, poppies, and opened the book.
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