Monday, October 24, 2011

Planting for the Spring

I can not imagine my mother without beauty;
music brightening the air,
the color blue...everywhere,
her joyous laughter and clear beautiful eyes,
and flowers, everywhere flowers,
spilling out of her own gardens and generosity
into the yards and gardens of everyone in town.

That is why I continue to plant living flowers
upon and beside her grave;
because any part of her being anywhere without beauty
is unimaginable to me.

A grave without flowers is so....final,
as if the song had died completely and forever.
I do not buy that; I know that notion to be false.
The Spirit can not die with the body
because of the spark of the immortal Creator
which lives within us all.

I chose daffodils because they are the
bright, bobbing trumpeters of early Spring,
the heralds of the season of new life,
because they are in constant motion,
dancing in the prairie winds,
and because their faces follow the path of the Sun.

There are those who find this practice of
digging in the soil of a grave creepy,
weird, disrespectful somehow.
I do not answer to them;
I do not plant for them,
I plant for her,
and I plant for all of those whose gardens
brighten to yellow from the bulbs
my mother gave to them.

I plant flowers to make people smile and remember,
 to make them stop and think,
and perhaps to give them back some hope.


Last week my sister Ann and I planted new bulbs to replace those that had been eaten by a pesky little three striped gopher. We had Brendan and Maggie to help us and to explore the beautiful stone that marks the place in Okeene where we worked on that windy October day. Young hands learning the tradition.

Two sweet little children whom Mom never knew in this life,
working together for good.


I agree with Carl Sandburg:
"A baby is God's opinion that life should go on."

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