Lilly of the Valley

Lilly of the Valley.

…

When she was a girl, 6 years old but already a young lady in an elegant dress, her granddad, the man of a severe and strict character but with very warm hands, used to go to the forest to pick up flowers for her. There were always the Lilies of the Valley.

These flowers were common to the zone where she has grown up and her granddad, being the person born and raised with a nature always close to him, used to like a lot to spend his time going to pick up flowers for her or some fresh berries, when she used to stay at home reading her books in his bed and grandmother was preparing the lunch.

She was always a bit shy yet excited when he entered their countryside house and going down on his knee, gave her the flowers. «These flowers are special,»-he always explained, - «They are the symbol of tender love and devotion. They are simple but beautiful in their purity». She was always a bit afraid of his military influenced character, but in such nice and touching moment, she used to whisper quietly «Thank you» and run away to put them into the vase close to wooden walls of the house.

…

When 16 years after he passed by, in a sunny day of May, his and her favorite month, she was tying to re-born the moment connected to him in her head.

How she used to dance and read the poems by heart in front of him and the grandmother on a New Year’s Eve, how they used to go to buy ice cream on a stuffy summer day and how she used to call him asking for the help for doing the mathematics exercise, and he quietly explained her many times the solutions she could not fins even after 8 or 10 attempts. She was trying to remember his glance and the way he was proud of her when she finished school, entered the university and moved to another country without waiting and asking for any support and help from anyone.

She was literally crying, like many years ago in childhood when she remembered the last kiss he had given her before she left to go home to Italy, and he had the tears in his eyes saying «I am so proud of you, my girl» and giving her the last bunch of Lillies of the Valley she received from him.

…

Since that moment she promised herself to gift herself at least one bunch of Lilies of the Valley every single year in order to commemorate the memory of this fantastic man who filled her life with his love and devotion and an entire desire to make her happy.

She bought this tender flowers everywhere she went and seen them, during the May her house resembled the English field and was filled with a typical for them silent and thin perfume. All the Lilies of the Valley were dedicated to him.

…

One day, there was a late night in the French Riviera coast and the train was quietly going towards the Cape d’ Antibes, as if sailing by small and cozy harbors with snow-white anchored yachts and coastline restaurants with hungry tourists. Sea waves were slight and the breeze was entering the train coach from an open window.

She was reading the book and trying to concentrate on what was written there, but in fact she was able to think only about the man, waiting for her in the station of Cote d’;zur. The French man of an average age with an incredible charm and self- confident glance of a winner.

As soon as the train reached the station and she stepped into the platform, he took her into his arms and embraced. She was hugging his neck and tenderly kissing him back, while he whispered that he was missing her and was waiting for this moment so much.

«I know that you love peonies but I thought they could be too banal for our too unpredictable story and first official date,»- he said and gave her the bunch of flowers, bounded with a creamy ribbon.

There were the Lillies of the Valley.

He did not know anything about the story of her granddad and could not do it in a specific way, this gesture was a result of his care about her and the desire to see her smiling and the sign of God and her granddad sent to her through him and these flowers.

«I do not know how is this possible, but these flowers are my favourite, you are... just... just magical, » - she could barely speak and he just kissed her forehead in order to calm down her emotions, and keeping her hand, led towards the water bay and night in the small French town, embraced by the waves of an infinite sea, which was so loved by her granddad who never left her alone.



Dedicated to my granddad.

10.07.2018