My friend's van pulls up and her passenger door flies open before I'm even out of mine.
"Here, Mrs. Eliasen. This is for you," says my friend's son, a sweet playmate of Sam's. "I made it."
And he hands me a water bottle. It's beautiful. There are flower petals inside. Pinks and purples and the deepest shade of lovely that is somewhere in between. The petals float in water. And from the cap comes a delicate white flower, a whisper of orange around its frilled edge.
I step from my van, take the bottle, and bend to hug my little friend. He smiles and my own heart swells.
"Thank you," I said, and I meant it. Deep.
The bottle now sits on our piano. I'm blessed each time it catches my eye. I think of our friend.
Did he know how he'd spoken love?
Gifts from the heart settle on the heart.
Gifts like flowers.