Boom says the thundah in Florida.
But when we can walk, we head for the green.
|Ma leading me through a shortcut to the green.|
To the glorious green we stroll, where birds fly and chirp, and the flowers bloom deep rose-pink or thick, waxy-white.
|Queen-of-flowers (crepe myrtle) in the green|
On our way to the rocks upon which we sit, we stop to admire the big-root tree which looks very much like a banyan tree. Its roots, instead of growing into the earth, rise upwards, bunched together like cathedral pipes beneath the ceiling of glossy leaves.
I am latching on to these days, absorbing them like a baby learning the world, but storing them like a woman-historian.
Ma is 80 now. I am hoarding, collecting her words, her sighs, her wishes and longings, her memories and laughter and little catches of songs that she sings now and then.
|Ma taking in nature.|
I want to be the best daughter ever, sorry for the odd times I wasn't.