.png)
Red is the color of new maple leaves on the old trees in the garden, the cardinals who visit my feeders, the koi in a nearby pond, the gently swaying birdhouses in a sunlight dappled yard not far from home.
Mike and Christa passed away a while ago, but their red bird houses remain, and I think of my old friends whenever I pass by. So many conversations when I was walking Beau or Spencer or Cassie. So many spirited exchanges about hawks visiting their yard, squirrels stealing their saffron crocus bulbs, the nut yield from their walnut tree. They grew some of the most towering, impressive sunflowers I have ever seen anywhere, and the webs spun by orb weaving spiders in their hedge were often several feet across. There was lots of stuff to talk about when we met, and I miss them.
One of these days, all that will remain of us (Beau and I) is the conversations we had on our morning rambles, all the happy natter about birds, bugs, varmints, weeds and village yard sales. There are worse ways to be remembered.
1 comment:
Emil and I just recently were reminiscing about good neighbours we had when we lived in Alberta. They're both gone now, but I think of them often as I make treats using "Auntie Helen's" recipes for caramel sauce or oatmeal cookies or "Helen's Pink Lady Squares." So many fond memories; you and I both have been lucky to have wonderful neighbours.
Post a Comment