Yellow rose

My steps are faltering, as old age has descended. Being all of 80, I think I’m going well. A walker keeps me company, and now, instead of gardening, I admire the plants around the Nursing Home where I live.

“Hello Merryl,” Basil yelled out over the lawn. We were all standing out the back of the Nursing Home, and Basil was the last person I wanted to talk with.

So I ambled down the footpath to the rose garden.

Bending down, I stared over the rims of my bi-focals. There was a tiny… something… on the yellow rose that nodded closest.

I bent over further.

Now, if I’d had more clout, I would have leant against the ledge that ran around the garden. Instead, I leant all my weight on my walker. This was a massive mistake. With a squeal I pitched forwards, bumping my head on the ledge. And then the world went black.

As I came to, instead of the hard ledge, I felt warm gentle arms underneath me. Opening my eyes, I suddenly wished I hadn’t.

I stared up into Basil’s twinkling eyes.

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