The sun shone on the grass, which had faded into that dismal gray so characteristic of winter. The passionate greens of the leaves of the trees had long since faded into the bright colors of autumn, and then drifted into the piles at the bases of the trees.

A daffodil was bright, and sat at the base of a tree, waiting. It was soon plucked, by a small girl, whose face told of innocence that was youth. As she toppled back to her mother, her father walked away, unnoticed. He pulled his coat up, shielding his face from the persistent sun- so bright, even though it was so chilly outside- and he walked faster, and into a coffee shop, to buy a snack for his wife and child.

The woman behind the counter wore a tag on her chest, which read “Ana”. Her face was flushed red, as she handed out the hot cocoa and coffee that people paid for in her shop. At eight o’clock, it finally closed, due to the persistent winds. She drove away in a car whose gas choked the air as if smothering it with a thick pillow.

A penny fell from her pocket as she got out of the car and entered her house. A little boy found it, and stuffed it in his pocket. He kept searching for more, finding a multi-colored marble, a small book, and a toy duck. His fists and pockets were soon filled with these treasures, and he went home.

His mother had left for work- flustered that day, her scarf tied neatly over her head. She talked on her device to invisible people, as she walked to her workplace. On her way there, the scarf flew off- yet, she was in a hurry, so she did not bother to grab it as it flew away.

The scarf covered the windshield of an automobile, and one thing led to another, and three people were dead. All of them children- it had been a school bus, which had run into a tree. The bus driver felt horrible, and was sent to court, and jailed soon after. His wife was there, along with his son.

His son grew up, knowing that it was not his father’s fault. He became a lawyer, and fought for the right side. When his mother died, he went to the funeral, and laid a flower on her grave, along with a teardrop, and a broken heart.

Another person visited the graveyard, later that day. She remembered the place- in her youth, it had been a park; she remembered, because she had a picture of her holding a daffodil, her mother holding her, and her father raising a cup of coffee. She took the picture out of the wallet, and stuffed it in the tree, and left.

And beneath that tree, there grew a single daffodil.