Laurie lost her love and came to the garden to grieve. She stood on the arching bridge above the small stream.
Leaning on the rough wood rail, she gazed nowhere. The cherry blossoms around her, the cheerful bubbling at her feet, the fluttering leaves: she saw nothing.
Happy children ran past her. One sweet voice cut to her heart. She cried.
Tears spilled into the nowhere. They poured out. Her grief mingled in the water, began coursing along.
Her tears ran under a willow tree. They swirled around the small turtle rock. Around gentle bends her tears coursed slowly, glistening over green pebbles. Her tears mixed with the spring rains; like lost silver they shimmered in sunshine. Her tears ran and ran and ran as the stream narrowed, in a growing hurry, it seemed, to go somewhere. Anywhere.
Suddenly, over a steep waterfall her tears thundered. They turned to mist.
Laurie straightened her back and breathed in deeply. She vaguely saw the shapes of white blossoms around her. She moved on.