“My feet were cold all day. It never stopped raining.”
“If you believe it never stops raining, talk to sunflowers.”
“I grew sunflowers, big ones, all last summer, all by myself. So big, I had to prop them up, so they wouldn’t fall over. One of the things I lost in the fire. A picture. A huge grasshopper sat on one of my sunflowers and let me take his picture– you have to prop them up, so they won’t fall. Never got them to where I wanted them– to give seed. Must have done something wrong.”
Both continue to look at the rain, one at the wet road dreading trips to talk money with an ex; the other at lush oak trees with dreams not of her own of past sunflower women.
You have to prop them up, or they’ll fall?