I hope you don't mind if this is not planned. No rough draft or MLA style composition here.
I'm starting with a snapshot of a memory that came back to me today. And the snapshot is not just a snapshot of an image, it's a multi-sensory snapshot of layers of memories, feelings, & history. Who knows why this clicked into place today, like a time-released puzzle piece.
I was driving home from work today, I saw some irregularly spaced Hosta in some landscaping in a yard that I passed.
For a few moments then, I was standing with my Dad & my sisters in my Grandparents' front yard a year or so ago, and I was noticing how my Grandma's Tulips had seemingly wandered out of her flower bed and out into her front yard. And in that moment then, I remembered being a child, loving her beautiful, blooming tulips in those precise flower beds. I looked forward to seeing them, then, when my life was so insecure and chaotic: Grandma's flowers were welcoming and reliable. There was a security in that. Grandma was good at things like that, predictablility and structure. There are no words for it. Life as we know it, and life passed. Changes happen so fast.
It's worthy of some deep reflection. There's a sadness, and a beauty to that, those wandering tulips. I'm thinking about how they became free, how much time has passed to let this happen? Has it been so long that my Grandma tended to her tulip beds? I thought there must have been a heavy rain. A long lasting, deep pool of water must have collected, loosened the soil around the tulip bulbs, and let them drift up and out of the garden bed and down into the yard.
My Dad disagreed, he said that squirrels did it. Squirrels dug up the bulbs and re-buried them in the yard. I don't think he was looking closely enough, though. I think it was water that did it, because the movement was like a gently, pouring, rippling wave. It made sense the way the seasons make sense.
I'm thinking about this as an analogy to life lived and lost now. Aren't you?
I'm thinking about the painting I did of my Grandma's Flowers that I brought home from her funeral service, still dripping with vibrant life---but different than the wandering tulips. My Grandma's life and bursting, beautiful tulip beds, my early life, were part one. The painting was part two, flowers in a vase, placed in the square confines of a canvas. And the tulips in the yard.....part three.
Someone will come along and gather them, put them in order, or replace them. That's it. It's played out.
I don't know if I could convey all of this in a painting or even a Haiku. There are things we understand in a moment that are like lifetimes coming together in synchronicity.