The bulbs were planted in early fall in a sun-drenched meadow above the tree line. Ellie and Sam picnicked there throughout the summer, adding joy and laughter to the flower-dotted green. On their last day together, Sam surprised Ellie with a packet of bulbs – daffodils, hyacinths, crocus. They dug holes, then gently placed a bulb in each hole, anointing each bulb with a wish.     Wishes for him to stay safe at war, wishes for her to successfully carry their first born to full term, wishes for them to be united again when peace returned. With the final bulb planted they promises to meet again at this spot each successive year as long as they were able.

Sam resolutely left his mountain home to join his fellow servicemen overseas. Ellie also left the mountain, returning to her family’s home where she surrounded herself with pictures of Sam looking handsome in his uniform, and of the two of them glowing with love on their wedding day.

Winter snows graced the meadow with white, spring brought gentle rains and myriad flowers riotous in their beauty. Summers flourished with deer below and eagle above, rabbits nibbling and birdsong enveloping all in rills and harmonies. Fall’s blush of orange and bronze burnished the meadow, preparing it for its next blanket of snow.

Repeat year after year.

Now at 70, Sam finds the path up the mountain side to be steeper, more rugged than in each of the previous 45 years. He trudges through the March snow, finally emerges above the tree line and into the meadow. There, as in all the springs before, a crocus pushes its head up through the snow.

Sam laughs sorrowfully to himself, thinking ironically of life’s cycle moving continuously around him, how life always returns to this mountain side. He turns toward the crocus, stretching his hand not to the blossom, but to touch the headstones directly beyond.

Ellie Braughton
Loving Daughter, Beloved Wife
b. 1950 – d. 1972

Beloved Son
Sam Braughton, Jr.
b. 1972 – d. 1972

Learn more about the author:

Susan Giles