The Flower

I found some small comfort today. Where I had buried the Adriaen's red keepsake – the oddly shaped sculpture of wood - a violet flower had sprouted. I sought to pluck it for the mantle, but it resisted my efforts, so I brought a knife and clipped it sharply where it clung to the soil. In the morning, however, the flower had died, the petals black, though I had made sure it had enough soil and water – and the smell from it was quite peculiar, almost like rot. I cast the remains away, then returned to where I had taken the flower the day before. To my surprise, new flowers had blossomed where I had buried the keepsake, almost a dozen sprouting forth where none had been the day before. I am afraid to speak of the matter to Marten. I thought to tell my Mother what I had seen, but then put it out of my mind – she did not want to speak of Adriaen - as if by saying his name we would bring the disease upon us. Kathrijn