My daughter, Daisy, has folded flower petals into bullets. “For origami class in school today,” she says, adding, “I prefer petals to paper.” They lay before her on the table; supple, halcyon growths, plucked and delicately arranged into symbols of violence, proudly displayed for my inspection. Pink ones, blue, and bright yellow, their colors recall to me a summer’s day and a smiling rainbow. Misreading my frown, she confides hastily, “An atom bomb would’ve been more appropriate, and I wanted to make one, but there weren’t enough flowers.”