I walked out to the front yard as the late afternoon sun began to dip behind the neighbors’ slate rooftops.

Elias was kneeling in the damp soil near the large front bay window.

He leaned heavily on a pair of rusty iron pruning shears with both hands.

A large green plastic nursery pot sat upright on the grass beside him.

A healthy young rose bush with thick green stems was growing out of the dark soil inside the pot.

“Jonathan always said this side of the front yard got the very best morning light,” Elias whispered.

“He spent every single weekend out here working on the garden,” I said.