Jill set up the tea table for her and Alan. It was the most romantic spot she had ever seen. It was stupid to put it in a field of perfect spheres of ripe round seeds, ready to blow away at the slightest breeze. Nothing stays the same. It wasn’t windy, maybe it would last until the tea got cold and the cucumber sandwiches were gone.
Yet, she knew while she tossed the embroidered linen table cloth onto the perfect round top to hold the shining teapot, the Japanese bone China with the delicate pink flowers the tableau was impermanent. It would only be immortalized in her brain. There would be no camera to record it, to cheapen it, or to make it anything other than what it was, a delightful foray into the afternoon.
Alan would be gone soon. Jill wanted to remember him surrounded by sunshine and blow flowers, making wishes with his breath while he still could. They would laugh and make up legends of the vines and blooms in the forest that he would carry to his grave and she would never forget. This would be their good-bye, surrounded by dandelion spheres, nothing stays the same.
Devonne Brown 
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