“Here, you left this on the table,” she said and passed me the gift. “I wonder what it is.” “I know what it is,” I muttered as I ripped open the paper. The new journal was beautifully illustrated and had a smooth, embossed cover. Botanical sketches covered it, greens and golds, and on a few of the leaves, little red ladybugs sat. I cracked it open and noticed a scrawl of dark ink on the front page.
