You loved your garden. You were always so proud of the flowers that bloomed. So much so you would pick one to show me then put it in a small vase on the kitchen table then remark for days how beautiful your flower was and how extraordinary it was that something so lovely could grow from the ground because of your love and care. You were so patient with them, then so happy when they’d bloom. You called me over while kneeling on the hill to marvel at the colors or growth of a plant that wasn’t doing so well the day before. You asked me to help you stand. I don’t move around like I used to, you said. I laughed, I’m impressed you’re able to move around like this at 85. Every time I photograph a flower, I think of you.
Lives interconnect with a single song, a classic one brings back memories good and bad when moments occurred that were out of their control where destiny calls could not be ignored rolling down California roads watching the sun fall below the sea a tune comes blasting through space a reminder of what was, what is, what is no longer here one person’s negativity is another person’s positivity how you feel when one wronged you let it be known as you watch balloons fly into the night sky dance as though this is your last night find happiness in the dark dance like a ballerina making trails in the sand.
May I lead the way through these delicate daydreams along the sea by the flowers under the sun I listen to music and find peace with what I do not know beyond now.
Turkeys fly into the trees, wobbling on the branches as they settle into the night. The nor’easter winds keep me up — sounds of childhood going through the carwash rush through my mind as I hear water being slammed at the windows, except nothing is being cleaned. A never-ending carwash continues throughout the night, getting louder just as I almost drift into sleep.
Writing is my anchor in the sand. What keeps me afloat when the ocean of my mind become choppy. What tethers me to the planet when I'm floating up in space. The grounding space, the safe place. Giving me clarity in these trying times. Through the lines, I write with messy scribbles. I return home to me, again, and again, and again. ...
I wander off into the haze inside my brain when horomones change and everything balances on the brink of insanity. I listen to the waves, feeling the air leave my lungs. When I can't see in front of me, I sit and wait, wait for myself to return.
The placement of the sails in the frame causes me to stop in my tracks. How perfect, I think. The window overlooking the ocean mirrors the one facing inland, through both, I see possibility.
I am that person who will take photos of flowers in shopping store parking lots before going inside and missing the sun. Appreciation for the beauty around me, especially when it's finite, will never not be crucial in my mind. For it reflects what I want to see in the reality we live in, finding the extraditionary exceptions in an ordinary day.
I breathe in salt air. I let go of worry as I feel the warmth of the sun on my bare skin. I am happy, gaining back what I lost in the winter months, not seeing or feeling the day to its fullest. I follow the sun, I walk along the ocean. Happy to be just to be.
Kelly Severseike 