Monday, April 27, 2009

wood anemones

I was home from school having a fever. I was eight years old. The door rang. It was my best friend. She hold both hands behind her back. She smiled and showed me one of her hands; a bouquet of wild anemones for me. Then she showed me her other hand. It was cupped and full of just the flower heads of the wild anemones.

????

Two boys in my class had picked me flowers too - for her to bring to me. I felt this little motion in my chest. Robert had picked me flowers.

9 comments:

aimee said...

a sweet memory. amazing that you can remember it in such detail - i don't remember much about being eight years old.

marie-louise said...

Underbart, vilket härligt minne.
Tänker du på det varje vår när du ser vitsippor?
Tänk att man inte vet det då, när det händer, att man kommer att minnas just det hela livet...

Christine said...

Meget fin og sød historie :-)

Esti said...

a good memory. I don't remember anybody bringing me flowers when i was eight... :)

Veja cecilia said...

fint beskrivet, bildligt! Du skriver verkligen fina anekdoter, du borde kanske skriva en bok och sen illustrera den:)

Alexandra Hedberg said...

Aimee - Some things are just completely blank in my memory. And some people I don't remember - BUT then there are whole episodes that I remember so clearly. Getting these flowers has been something I've been thinking about every spring since then.

asphaltandair said...

pitter-pitter-pat went her heart!
what a lovely little story.
thanks so much for sharing it.
made me smile.
you are such a good story-teller...

FruensWerk2 said...

That is a super sweet "story"...love it...

Rynke said...

:) :) :)