Ah, the flowers I have known. Their memories dance in the garden of my mind. Azaleas in front of our second home in Pasadena. A lush, full coral vine in the backyard. Antique roses flanking the drive in Alvin. Johnny Jump Ups by the front porch. The Gulf Muhly we planted upon our arrival at our current home. The red rose, planted at the east end of the house, that grew to well over six feet before succumbing to drought.
All of them are gone now, chased away by moves, lack of sun, lack of water, and the life span of plants. But nothing lasts forever, and gardens are good reminder of that. The beauty of the garden is mostly a transient affair, the morning sun on the pink blooms of the rock roses, the Spiderworts in purple and gold beneath the antique rose with its delicate, pale pink flowers. They bloom without caring if they’re seen by you and me, and sometimes they don’t even care if a butterfly stops by.
Monday’s garden is nothing like Tuesday’s. Every day is different. Yesterday’s bloom is always a memory. Today is all that counts. A loving touch here. A little water there. Maybe you get a flower. Maybe nothing. Maybe a surprise. But the memories keep hope alive. And I keep trying, because even though not every flower works out, when they do it’s a treat and that’s sweet. Another flower memory to carry along in the garden in my mind.
