To the rescue of a flower
Beauty blooms where you least expect it - yes, that's true! As well as that nature always finds its way through unexpected paths or creates them.
On the afternoon before my mother-in-law passed away, I photographed a beautiful solitary flower in one of the several pots she had on the porch of her house. How was I to know that she would leave? Something inside me anticipated it. But I refused to accept it.
Usually, people comment, between curtains, how good the deceased was in life. And I don't doubt it! Although... let's be honest! It all depends on the relationship one has had with them, or the hypocrisy of political correctness at the time of dismay.
Today, it is a beautiful Sunday, and I do not intend to spoil your weekend, by evoking for you the sadness of emptiness. On the contrary, I want to infect you with the joy of one of the passions of a sensitive, common, and singular being like you: the love for plants.
Her name was Flor. My mother-in-law adored plants and had a special bond with them. To the point of having a conversation with them every day while she watered them. She spoke to them with tenderness, and the plants gave her the splendor of their colorful flowers. She was not crazy, nor did she suffer from episodes of schizophrenia.
Although one of my brothers-in-law is still watering them to keep alive one of his mother's legacies. I notice a certain sadness in them. As if they were still mourning the departure of their friend.
Maybe it is a lucubration of mine. A mental mechanism that psychologists call projection to cope with the effects of the recent event.
In any case, when I made a quick inspection in search of the beautiful flower in the photograph on my cell phone, I found the empty green twig: where is the crimson red? Surely, another beautiful flower will soon be reborn with proper care.
However, at the other end of the half wall full of pots, I was surprised by an intrepid twig with a flower and two green buds resembling arms with closed hands that had crossed the metal profile supporting the laminated roof.
My wife said, "How pretty! You can cut it for me. Don't forget to ask her permission when you do it." My brother-in-law added, "Put it in water. And if you're going to transplant it, wait a day until you put it in compost soil in the new pot."
I thought, Wow, I didn't know that, amazing!
So, I took some photos and captured the freshness of the little red flower: a beauty as ephemeral as life itself.
For the first time, I felt the thrill of dealing with the fragility of the beautiful in the plant kingdom. A priceless gift when one pays attention with the heart.
I gently grasped the very thin twig, and after whispering to her what I would do with her permission, I applied just enough pressure with a small but sharp Swiss stainless steel scissors: the cut was clean. There it was, released in my hands.
I fetched a small glass cup and placed it in water, as instructed.
Now, I hope it will withstand the journey home, and let nature do the rest.
I had a special weekend. It took me to conviction to go on a journey to be a better version of myself. I hope yours was special too.
The photos were taken by me
