I can’t explain the feeling.
It’s too big, overwhelming,
like the sky in summer.
He had a frown on his face
when he picked up the folder,
thinking Mr Hume
had slipped more work under his door.
And then he saw the stalk of lavender
and, I swear, I could see the wrinkles of a smile
stitched across his face.
He stood at the shed door
and read through every note I’d included.
He took the pencil he keeps in his top pocket
and added his own ideas to my notes.
There were a few kids around the playground now,
I had to be careful or else someone would notice.
When he finished he put the notes
back in the folder,
tied it with the same ribbon
and walked into his shed,
placing it on the top shelf above his bench,
where no one could reach it.
He came back outside,
the stalk still in his hands,
he held it up to his nose
and laughed,
it was the best laugh I’d ever heard.