It had been raining since the weekend, and Monday—my day off—was no exception.I spent the afternoon in the living room, completely absorbed in my pressed-flower art.My near vision had recently begun to show its age, so whenever I lifted a petal with my tweezers, I had to be careful not to stab straight through it. Every so often, I pinched the bridge of my nose and massaged the space between my eyebrows. Otherwise, I would suddenly realize how badly I had strained my eyes.I arranged the flowers, petals, and leaves I had prepared between spring and summer, layering them into a composition of gray and blue.“There. Maybe I should add a yellow pansy here and make it look like the moon.”One advantage of living alone was that I could talk to myself without lowering my voice.The disadvantage was that I seemed to be doing it more and more often.I was making bookmarks as Halloween gifts for the children at the library. We had made pressed flowers together during a summer workshop, so I
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