From my soon-to-be-released Short Stories for the Soul: “Anna’s Treasures” Seattle 1954 Anna Petrovna died in springtime. She had always wanted to die in winter because that’s when everything slept. Death was natural, and properly done, in winter. But the cancer metastasized like a trespasser over the borders of her wishes and took her three seasons early. This upset her. Sergei clutched her diary as he gazed at the old lithographic photo in the gray light that filtered through the rain-streaked window. By the date on the back, she would have been in her forties, and every inch of her…