“Skulking around.” That’s what Grandma Lindley would say. “Why you skulking around, child? Don’t you have better things to do than spy on folks?” That’s what she would ask me if she were alive today and saw me.

My reply would be: “It’s not just any folks, it’s Beau.”

She would have huffed a sigh, hid a smile, and continued picking beans for supper.

The garden patch is barren. No one’s planted in it since Grandma passed. But someone’s kept it plowed. In case. And, I have a sneaking suspicion who that someone was.

Continue reading at Sascha Darlington’s Microcosm Explored