My mother had plants all over a shelf running the length of their kitchen. She did a pen and ink drawing of the riot of flowers and pots and leaves. She then did a second one but this time the snapdragons were dragons and there were elves and fairies and monsters in all the plants.
My orchid is blooming riotously right now, with abandon, to the point where the pot barely stays upright. I love orchids, how long the blooms last, and how they would rather not be watered too much, and a flower that perches up on tree branches in jungles: how delightful and romantic is that? This one is in my kitchen window and makes me think of my mother.
I took this Friday, walking around north Seattle, waiting for my autoclave to finish testing. In the early morning these small flowers were by the road and scattered through a yard. For survivors everywhere: the earthquake and tsunami in Indonesia and for men, women and children who have been hurt and abused and go on. For the capacity to love, to grieve and to heal.
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