The soft perfume followed her inside, a sighing fragrance of yesterday.


Janice had slowly watered the flowerbed, religiously but without relish: seeds of a new world beneath her feet, spring signing a lease of new life. A tear formed in her eye. Under the seeds, sorrow spiking her heart, lay the remains of beautiful tabby cats Georgie and Gina.

Their glowing fur fading in the sunset of her mind. So she tended the seeds each day, and tried to recall.

Spring matured like a girl uncertainly clutching at womanhood, confidence unfurling. Above the adolescent shoots, two daffodils danced to a gentle beat, a silent sigh in their nodding heads.

Janice had not planted them, stray bulbs blown on a wizard wind. Each day she watched them, ballerinas in time to a spring symphony. She stroked their sleek stems, a smile turning upside down as she noticed the cat fur beneath. Tabby fur.

Janice picked it up and felt the smooth comfort of memory returning.

The daffofils swayed conspiratorially, whispering in the wind. That night she dreamed of them, two daffodils stroking her arms, confiding in her, feline power in their yellow gaiety. When she woke, there was tabby fur in her hands.

The daffodils became the highlight of her garden; each day she tended them, and each day her heart felt easier. Their spring sunshine suffused her soul with hope. She began to speak to them, and in her head felt the presence of Georgie and Gina.

Weeks passed, the daffodils wilted, victims to the relentless rhapsody of time. She tended the empty shells one last time. Pawprints appeared in the earth beneath the sagging stems.

The daffodils were gone. But they remained in her dreams. Daffodil dust shone on her pillow, the dying fragrance of days gone by.