On Samantha Sader

The sunshine loved her cheeks.

Imagine a wildflower planted right next to a busy sidewalk—face toward the sun, conversing with bees, colorful petals waving to passersby. That flower was her. A pedestrian’s day was made just a little brighter for having seen her; folks often left her presence wearing a fresh smile.

I happened to meet her on my way past her plot of earth on a foggy night, when everyone else had gone to bed. The busy sidewalk was empty of all but me and it was difficult to find my way. It should have been impossible to see her in the fuzzy dark like that, but a faint glow emanated from her fragile stem, casting glimmering light in a small sphere all around her.

I had never seen a night flower like her in all my travels.

There I paused a moment to appreciate this delightful display. She had a bit of daylight within her, I realized, borrowed from the sun and stored up for when gloom encroached. Though it had almost gotten me lost, I had to feel grateful to the confusing fog. Without it, I would’ve missed the chance to see a flower like her shine.

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