The Beauty of Nature
As a child, I lived down the road from an older house, a large multi-storied townhouse that was built before I was born. It’s builder, Mr. Feld, lived in this house until his death recently. I couldn’t find an obituary though. Sitting on my childhood home’s porch, I remarked the beauty of Number 35’s garden, which was in surprisingly good condition to say that Mr. Feld had been gone for at least a year, and noticed towards the front a grand marigold towering above the other flowers on the beds. It’s bold colour contrasted with the comparatively stale hues of the rest of the yard. I stared at it for a moment, the world seemingly melting away around me as I was drawn into its yellow beauty, wafting in the wind, almost lifelike, when the moment was broken by the sound, and then sight, of a car passing on the road, slowing down and pulling up in the garage just by the house with the beautiful marigold, Number 35.