It’s been one summer, one fall, one winter, one spring and the whiff of a new summer since the “goodbye”. Life's rhythm remains stubbornly unbroken. The small patch of ground also broke out a riddle of its own: I placed on it a “pillow” of granite and a bronze plague for a memorial. I decked it with a bouquet of roses and some daffodils - watered with tears and loads of love. I watched fresh grass gradually cover the dugout earth – another reminder of the passing of time as though I needed reminding. The summer dried up the tender petals of the flowers and the winter turned the stems mushy brown. So I packed them all up and replaced them with the artificial kind to nestle the ridge between the granite “pillow” and the fresh grass. I looked at it and thought it was good, but it was not perfect. The ruddy rose gradually faded in the scotching summer heat, but the white of the daffodil survived the frost bites and shines as bright as ever. I wonder what to make of the sparkling white petals that survived the summer heat and the winter frost: that virtue surpasses all else? Tiny, I am not in the least surprised that you have been silent for a whole year, yet you speak. It has always been your style to preach majority of your sermons without speaking a word.