Purple

I noticed a small cluster of flowers at the side of my parents' house. A tiny patch of amethyst amidst the green lawn. Planted by my dad, of course - the one family member in possession of a green thumb. My mom can wilt a flower at 10 paces with a glare. My maternally bestowed floracidal prowess is by no means as finely honed, though I can kill a cactus!

The flowers' location puzzled me. Why were they here, tucked away almost like an afterthought, unlikely to be seen by a passerby on the sidewalk or street?

Then I realized. Purple is my mom's favorite color. The color of so much of her attire.

And so those purple flowers stand in their secretive little niche. Through the rain. Through the parching sun. Through the morning dew. Because my dad loves my mom.