A summer's garden provides a joyous remembrance.
|I remember candles in the garden that August.
So long ago, by the calendar’s reckoning,
yet it seems like yesterday. Hunter green
they were, among the white and pink
impatiens, the gold geraniums,
lilacs and white roses named
for Elizabeth Taylor. We
would light the candles
at sunset, and walk
hand in hand.
(There wasn’t very far to go,
intoxicating lilac scent.
Yet green the candles burned at night
reminding us what passion meant. )
August’s last garden sent a signal I remember.
Loud and clear, a flash of clarity through the
opaque past, a finger string taut sparking
memory with urgent kindness, a nudge
pulling up pleasant mind-files kept
secretive yet secure, brain safe.
Candles, flowers… thoughts
speaking softly and kind.
(They were not very hard to find,
those thoughts in storage of ago.
Uplifting are the memories
that bring about an inner glow.)
Heart to heart,
walking at sunset,
flowers in burgeoning
beauty as fall was hinting,
wicks then lit to mood the dark
and perhaps even accent the moon…
a gentle breeze announcing night’s calling,
all this and more flash back in joyous celebration.
I remember candles in the garden that August.
Writer’s Cramp Winner