He handed me a small object the shape of a brick, but smaller. It could have been a box, I don’t know. It was heavy. I asked him, “Is the sadness in it?” “Is it closed?” “Will it leak?” He looked back at me, steadily, attentively. But he said nothing.
Would it be more polite to return the loan of tulips before their life of bloom waned? or would it show an apter appreciation of the favor to enjoy them to the end? While I was debating this question and putting one or another of them into the compost, the pink-and-white tulip made certain yellow …