Wednesday, February 29, 2012
Later it becomes a bright blue sky with
fluffs of white clouds
The breeze comes, a stiff cold wind now and again
But, later settles down and
leaves the sun to warm me
The seasons are confused
Winter and Spring blur together
in one day
And a piece of my heart has come home
This rather boring photo, of a plain plastic pot (rescued from the trash), in all actuality captures
something deeply meaningful for me.
This rose bush was once upon a time
a gift from me to my mother.
I'm remembering it as a Mother's Day gift.
I gave it to my mom so she could have something pretty
to look at, knowing a gift a some tshatshke (trinket, knick-knack) was not necessary.
She requested the gardener plant it where it could be seen, from her living room couch.
For many years she enjoyed her view of the rose bush, calling me excitedly when it bloomed.
"There's a rose on your bush!" she'd say. She always called it "your bush".
Some days, she'd cut a single rose and bring it in to sit on her coffee table,
enjoying it up close and personal. "Guess what I'm looking at!" she'd say.
It connected her to the seasons, to nature, in a way she did not usually verbalize.
It was there for years, outside her window, bringing her pure joy in its beauty and in the knowledge of my love for her.
As my sister emptied the last belongings of the home her family shared with our mom,
my boyfriend and I dug up the rose bush.
Now it sits outside my living room window, where I can see it from my couch.
And I feel the same joy upon seeing it, and in the knowledge of our mutual love.
A corner of my heart feels wrapped up in the two-ness of us, as if my mom has come home. This fills my heart to bursting. I like having it nearby. It feels right.
I shall carry on the tradition of life with this rose bush.
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Today I like this growth (via Notice Quiet Nature)
Photos by Nancy A. Erisman ©2012