Once when my sister visited me she brought some Texas bluebonnet seeds.  We planted them near the pond, our favorite place to sit and shoot the breeze, when she was here.  The seeds didn’t grow and I forgot about them. 

     A few weeks after she died, I noticed a familiar plant growing.  There, where we’d planted the seeds a few years before was a Texas bluebonnet.  I watched it grow and when it bloomed, I smiled remembering a time that we’d played in a field of them.  We acted like children and for a little while delayed our trip to the hospital in Ft. Sam.

     Every year since then one has grown in the same spot.  I’ve planted seeds from it in other places but they don’t come up.  The only one that grows is where we planted the seeds together.  I think of it as her way of letting me know she’s around. 

     Today the first sprout broke ground.  I smiled.