An enigma

For a few months now I've found flowers and bits of foliage on the door to my office, or on the pathway or step. We have small children living next door and I'd assumed it was them (children get enormous joy from pulling the heads off flowers). Or my daughter, who is very sweet, and often leaves me billets doux. But the neighbors are now off in Park City for the season, J is in Atlanta, the children are at school and it's only me, Monica and the dogs at home. I came back from lunch today to find two tiny white flowers on my desk. They smell of sage. The door was closed. "Monica," I said, "Have you by chance been in my office?" "No," she said. "It's okay, I just need to know," I said. "No," she said. About a month ago when I'd been cleaning out my stuff and moving the furniture around I left a wooden cd player on the floor and when I came outside again, I found three or four leaves from the butterfly bush, freshly broken off, lying on top of the player. I reminded Monica of this. "Don't scare me" she said, "I have to be here alone." Again today, these flowers are sitting here for me. Everything else is untouched. No-one has been here; the dogs haven't barked. I have an admirer perhaps? It doesn't feel scary at all, though. One cannot draw a shred of malevolence from a carefully placed flower. But it is strange. Lovely, yes, but strange.