Ms. Riera: Daisies Can Fly

With John driving down the back country road of our quaint little town, the world whirled by in slow motion, as if on a carousel going at quarter speed. I saw every minute detail of the street, but in whirring colors. The willows bending and swaying in the hot summer breeze. My child’s hand riding the windy wave outside the truck window through the rearview mirror.  The deep nightingale color of the tall, dry grasses reaching towards the sky like a thirsty hand reaching for water. In this moment of time, my life was not a reality, but an illusion; a sleight of hands. The emptiness beginning to creep into the pit of my stomach was one I had never truly known, even though this was not my first loss or tragedy. As I closed my eyes to lean my head back in hopes for a moment of quiet repose, the truck lurched on over a speed bump in the road.  Suddenly, I was jostled awake by a perfect, yellow daisy flying into the window and landing directly on my lap as if it were nonchalantly tossed there. John brought the truck to a stop and said “That was your dad. There’s your sign that he is always with you.”  Up until that moment, I thought that daisies couldn’t fly.