A Golden Thread

I walked down the front steps and headed along the brick pathway toward the neighborhood park to stretch my legs. Near the low wooden rim of a marigold bed, something bright caught my eye. I knelt down on one knee to look closer. It was a fallen yellow petal, perfectly curled and dry. With slow, deliberate care, I picked it up between my knitted fingers so it wouldn't crumble, then gently placed it flat against the smooth pebble inside my green shoulder tote.