Lone Yellow Daisy
His mid-morning hike came to a halt by a rocky crevice half a mile off the hiker’s trail, on the side of the hill that faced the forest behind instead of the sprawling city in the near distance. The immediate vicinity was mostly enclosed by trees and tall brush, rendering the area secluded and very isolated. Away from the hustle and bustle of everyday life, everything here was tranquil and serene. Off to the corner of the clearing lay a large nondescript rock, jutting out from the side of the little hill. As he approached, wet grass mulching and twigs crackling underfoot, a lone daisy stood tall and proud, roots protruding out of a hairline crack in the rock, beaming at him.
She had always loved daisies. He placed his offering of some orange ones wrapped in yellow ribbon — her second favourite colour. The discoloured remnants of two other yellow ribbons lay on the ground nearby, battered by exposure but refusing to be swept away by the wind or buried into the ground. He sat down on the large, gray-white surface of the rock and lit up a cigarette, taking a long drag and exhaling slowly.
“Those things will kill you”, the ghost of her chided gently. Right beside his left boot, the lone yellow daisy smiled up at him, beautiful, wild, strong.
That was when I finally allowed the tears to come.

