Pablo rolled up one side of the canvas that shielded his flowers from the sun. It was already hot.
Miguel slept, wrapped in his dreams, stretched out behind the flower cans. He could sleep anywhere, a blessing of youth.
Pablo watered his flowers and fiddled with his arrangements, enjoying the fragrance and beauty, until he was alerted by the hissing rattle that warned of danger. Glancing at his own feet, he saw nothing. Moving carefully around the truck, he finally spotted the snake coiled near his son’s head.
His clippers were his only weapon.