My father

My father likes to raise a host of things.

Chickens.

Cats.

Plants.

 

He found a way to cultivate life in the most fragile being.

Three legged mammals who lost a mother or a budding angiosperm that needed some water.

To him, these creatures–no matter their size–had a logic and a pattern.

They showed their kindness in subtle and overt ways through their varicolored flowers and their strength in character.

It was in these gestures of bringing life to the forsaken that he could once again become a father.

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