When she arrived home it looked like the scene of a massacre, as if a clowder of stray cats slaughtered a flock of unsuspecting doves, silky white feathers scattered on moistened soil,
a few drops of crimson-colored geranium petals mixed in. She shook her head in disbelief. Only two weeks before they'd come into bloom; now they'd been reduced to a bunch
of bare-headed discs on twiggy green bodies, puddles of petals below. The poor daisies appeared old and battered, stripped of their beauty by a three-minute hail storm in the middle of June.
Staring at the damage, her mind wandered to memories of years gone by, distant yet unfading, those delicate buds suddenly shaken from her womb, expectations thwarted by forces unforeseen.
Linda Hofke, a native Pennsylvanian, lives in Germany where she writes, takes photographs and puts her lead food to use on the Autobahn. Her most recent work has been featured or upcoming in MiCrow, Bolts of Silk, The Fib Review, Prompted, and The Poetic Pinup Revue. She blogs at http://lind-guistics.blogspot.de/.