Writing 101, Day Two: A Room with a View (Or Just a View)

In a word: flowers. Whether part of a grand garden structure (think Botanical Gardens or any beautiful gardens you’ve ever seen like Jardin des Plantes in Paris) or the gardens I pass on my local walks with friends, or the wildflowers I see on the side of the road in upstate New York from my car window, or the succulents scattered on the hillsides in the southwestern portion of the United States, it’s flowers that enliven me. The colors pull at my eye sockets – take notice, they call.

Bold – subdued, smooth – spiked, spacious – compact. Lively blooms of pink and red, green stems short and long, gathered bunches of – or sparsely populated growth. I feel an instant surge of energy, calm energy, fill my being when I walk among such beauty. Wild or cultivated matters not – as the fragrance fills my nose and the sight fills my vision, I am transported to another plane. It’s strange how nature can do that. Like a deep meditation.

When my parents’ passed, the memorial tribute after the ceremony, shiva, etc. was the creation of a garden in the corner recesses of my backyard. With a wooden swing placed on silver chains, and red round brick pathway leading back – I placed a garden. It is  the my best way to commune with them daily. Birds live there temporarily, landing on large trees with purple blooms, and wisteria. The color, variety of shape and size, and sense of wonder portrayed, does justice to the people for whom the garden was planted.

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