Samatha Frost's
snowdrops
Winter is quiet. No night sounds of bugs, no morning sounds of birds. There's no rain on the roof or wind in the leaves. Not silent though with the snapping of the wood in the range and the settling of the house. More mice in the winter scarrying but she don't hear the scrape of that big old black snake like when it first sheds in May. The frozen laundry clunks on the line in a winter wind. Just like it waves silently in summer. Oh, how Samantha Frost loves the summer. But it's nothing if you compare it to the way she loves spring.
Spring, for Semantha Frost, people said was like a kind of rapture. It changed her completely for the better. It never failed. After she put by all she could (eat what you can and can what you can't, she'd say, and laugh) her garden went to ruin. As fall went on she visited less and less. She always acted as if Christmas was too much for her to bear and she wasn't good company no more. That Dexter kid didn't even like to deliver her groceries. Got in trouble for leaving them on the porch in January. Mister Frost loved his wife, a good man. He sat with her when she had one of her crying spells, even came home from the bank. Still he knew the only thing that would get her over it.
When the first snowdrop bloomed like little white lights in March, Mister Frost brought Semantha Frost a bouquet and watched the change begin.