Perennials

She walked me out to the garden at the end of her vast yard. Before we even arrived, her arm was outstretched in an accusatory point at a single lily blossom.

“It came in all crazy this year.” I could tell she was disappointed.

“Every year, for as long as I can recall, theses lilies have been orange; just solid orange. But this year…” she trailed off and shook her finger at the flower.

I squatted down to get a better look. I didn’t mind it. I didn’t know what lilies ought to look like or that there was a right or a wrong way for one to grow.

“This year, this…thing showed up all red and orange and gold-streaked, t'ain't what I expected.”

“Some years,” I told her, “are different than others.”

“Huh, could be anything. Sometimes the weather can do it, or the kind of light they get, or what you feed them.”

“Or, maybe,” I asked hopefully, “this was just her year?”