By, Nan Claire Falkner
“Oh, how I wish I had a green thumb!” Ann lamented, looking at the box of flowers she had just bought and wondering if they would last until July fourth. Of course in the past, this hadn’t happened. Each pathetic petunia only lasted until it was hot.
So, rolling up her sleeves, she tied a bandana on her head to keep untamed curls from escaping, and picked up her potting tools.
Putting on her gloves, she opened the door slowly.
“They’re alive! They’re alive!” She danced outside into the arms of her husband, Alan singing
“I’m giving up weeds! Eureka!”