by Jennifer Hinders

Created on: October 10, 2010

Edith stomped into the bright kitchen, wiped her wet feet on the rubber mat and exclaimed loudly, “Good heavens this weather isn’t fit for a duck.”

She slid both arms out of her blue windbreaker and hung it on a wooden peg next to the door. She hummed softly as she stepped over to the sink to wash her soiled hands.

Barney and Edith McMichaels had lived in the same small village in the same tiny house for over forty-five years. The McMichaels prided themselves in their predictable, quiet lifestyle. Theirs was a life without ‘brass or bother’, as Barney liked to say.

Gardening was Edith’s passion. She loved digging in the soil; planting tiny seeds and watching the small tender plants grow and flourish. She had in fact been out in her garden digging in the soil on this day when it began to rain.

As Edith turned to leave the kitchen, she noticed something unusual on the kitchen table. A small white daisy sat in the middle of the kitchen table. Now this wouldn’t have been so unusual except for the fact that the daisy wasn’t in a pot. It was simply planted into the table, or so it seemed. Edith crept over to the table and reached out hesitantly. She touched the white daisy. It swayed under her touch, but remained upright.

“Barney? Barney where are you?” cried Edith. She leaned over the table to examine the daisy’s stem and roots. It was firmly attached.

“Hello, dearest,” said Barney in his soft Irish brogue as he ambled into the kitchen. “What are you doing, luv?”

“Good Lord, Barney. I think my wits have left me. Look here at this plant and tell me what you see.”

Barney looked at the flower sitting on the table. He scratched his chin for a minute. “Well, Edie, I’d say it’s growing. Now how did you do that, ducks?”

“But Barney, I didn’t do anything.  I don’t know how the daisy came to be planted in our table.”

“Hmm well, we’ll never need another center piece on the table, now will we?” Barney smiled. He leaned down and touched the small daisy’s petal.  He pulled his hand back quickly yelping with pain.

“The darn thing just bit me!”  He held up his index finger. Bright red blood trickled down out of a small cut.

Edith gasped, “I touched it myself not five minutes ago and it didn’t do a thing to me. What in the world is this plant doing here?”  She wrapped a paper napkin around Barney’s injured finger. He sat down on the kitchen chair holding his wrapped injured finger with his other hand. 

They stared at the small innocent looking daisy for a few minutes.  “Edith, I’ve heard of things like this. This is called a phenomenon. We have a strange phenomenon going on right here in our kitchen.”

“Well, phenomenon or not, I’m getting rid of this daisy. We can’t have a biting plant on our table, now can we?”  Edith left the kitchen and returned a few minutes later with a pair of garden clippers. She grabbed the white daisy by its stem and clipped it off. Edith threw the limp daisy into the dust bin next to the kitchen sink.

“Barney, our phenomenon is over. The flower is in the rubbish.”

“Uh, yes it’s gone from the table, but my dear, I think you should have a wee look in the mirror.” He pointed to her head. Edith walked over to the hallway mirror and peered at her reflection.  She clasped both hands over her mouth to subdue a scream for there on top of her head grew a small white daisy. 

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