As I pulled the book from the shelf and opened it, a flower fell from between its pages. Its colour gone, its petals so fragile they cracked and crumbled as I caught the little thing. Still there was enough left for me to recognise what it was… a little sprig of forget-me-nots. My face remembered before conscious memory kicked in, the smile and the tear meeting halfway across my cheek. It was a long time ago, but for a second, imagination painted two hands where there was now one and the soft blue of the flower glowed ghostly blue. At its centre, the golden eye of a distant sun looked back at me. A very long time ago.
How much my life has changed in twenty years! How much the world itself has changed. Children who have grown into parents, people who have moved through my life, taken centre stage then exited quietly, to other lives or beyond life. Technology has moved at a pace that makes my daily life barely recognisable, opening a world of knowledge and communication whilst closing the doors on many more human moments of contact. Twenty years to see the sharpness of youth fade to softer tones. The hand that gave me that flower would barely recognise so much of my life today.
Yet, so much has not changed. People are still people, with the same hearts and hurts, the same dreams, the same problems. The places are all filled, as generation after generation play an eternal game of musical chairs, each taking the place of those who went before. The sky is still blue, the earth still as green and a babe in arms still has that soft, milky smell as every babe ever born. Forget-me-nots still bloom, and seem to tell a story similar to our own.
Tiny leaflets pierce the soil, barely distinguishable from any other plant, except to the gardener who knows them well. They grow, and buds small and pale, emerge baby-pink and fragile from the protective cocoon of sepals. As the petals begin to unfurl, their colour changes and deepens as they mature and become what they were always destined to be, opening wide to mirror the sun with a golden heart… then, slowly, they fade through the pastel shades of age, setting seeds that cling to everything with which they come into contact. They are carried far and wide and will spread, perpetuating their delicate beauty long after they are gone.
For a moment time stops as I look at the crumbling flower. I am there and then, yet here and now too and the two are not separate but occupy the same time and space within me as, for a scintilla, I am conscious of being outside of the constraints of perceived time. The moments that unfurl like petals in memory have never left; they are not ‘gone’ or ‘lost’ but remain as part of the garden of my own life and from the memories, as much as the moment when the flower was fresh, seeds are continually sown and grow.
I return the papery fragments to the earth and the flower has gone full circle… my hands are empty, yet the smile and the memory remain and will bloom every time I see a forget-me-not. They always do. No experience is ever lost, it only slips from consciousness to take root in mind or heart.
This is so beautiful Sue, it reminds us how as you say nothing is ever really lost. 💜
Nothing is ever lost… it only changes state <3
Yes very true 💜
This is true, nothing is ever really lost, but for a second, it always seems as though they are…
It does… but that is a ‘flaw’ in our perception, and a natural reaction from our emotions… Mother Nature has been ‘green’ longer than her children 😉
The flaw is probably mine too, Sue…
So beautifully summed the circle of life and it’s experiences
Thank you 🙂
I loved this Sue.
Thanks, Di.
So beautiful, Sue. “generation after generation play an eternal game of musical chairs” – what a lovely metaphor for the chain of life in which we are each a link. We make love manifest.
That seems to be the way life works 🙂
and digging up those memories is part of the fun…
Yes, it can be 🙂
A very special post. It reminded me that somewhere between the pages of an old Bible is the dried remains of a carnation given to me by my date for my first formal high school dance many years ago. Thanks for these memories and the reminder that no experience is ever lost.
That’s a lovely thing to have kept, Darlene 🙂
Beautiful thoughts on one of my favorite flowers, Sue. Small things can bring forth fond memories, resting in our subconscious awaiting a trigger to bring them forth into the present moment to enjoy again. Lovely! <3
It takes so little sometimes to set off a whole story.
This is lovely, Sue. You have the talent of using words to create beauty as in:
My face remembered before conscious memory kicked in, the smile and the tear meeting halfway across my cheek. <3
Thank you, Carol <3
Beautiful words and sentiment Sue. I recently took a gander in replay at the last 20 years. Lots of good memories, but sorrow ensues for what is no longer. I know well of what you write. <3 xx
No substantial length of time will be without its tears or its laughter… joys or losses. They are all very much a part of we are are and what we may become. <3
<3
You are the only other person I know who presses flowers in books, Sue. They bring back lovely memories for me too.
I have always done so and used to make framed pictures with them too.
So beautiful, Sue. I love forget-me-nots, both the flower and the sentiment 🙂
So do I… and they are so simple, in constant change too.