My youngest child knows that my favourite colour is yellow, so he picked a little, yellow flower for me from his grandfather’s garden. When his granddad saw him plucking the little flower, he also picked a single, yellow rose bud from the same bed. They took the bud and flower inside, where my mother gave them a yellow pot full of water to put them in, and they brought them to me.
I hugged them; my father’s flowers are treasures.
The next day, the bud opened to fill the cup, and the scent filled the room.