https://www.metmuseum.org/art/collection/search/436528
(In Public Domain)
Third Sister – 10/14/20
…when a certain flower or bush grows like weeds in the garden of your childhood, sometimes it is overlooked or ignored, or even not seen, even when it is right in front of you later in life, when, shall we say, we are more set in our ways, when ways of seeing and not seeing, yes, when ways of understanding, appreciation, and all the wonder of recognition that we possessed as a child, are less, at least in some measure. And the standard purple irises were everywhere that they would grow, our English mom’s doing, perhaps reminding her of home, her home and culture and climate and countryside and garden and parks all left years ago…for irises would grow anywhere where they were watered, or where my mother coaxed my dad to plant and replant the tubers that multiplied and multiplied and soon they were everywhere beautiful with flowers, getting weedy when they were gone. And yet with memory and appreciation, when our mom passed and was gone and no longer with us, I dug some irises from her yard and planted them in mine, where now I wonder if anyone will want or remember to take them as they were my mom’s and now mine and are a living treasure to me, a reminder of my mom and childhood and life…when I am gone.
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