I believe the older we get the more we may just have to appreciate each others stories, even when told over and over. Sometimes knowing the story, like hearing a familiar song, settles in, a nod of familiar, a nice reminder. so here I repeat myself…
Long ago a dear and truly magical friend gave me white peonies “I think you will love seeing white flowers in the dark." Sadly she passed away years ago. Decades have passed. I’ve had to transplant them from one home to another. But the white blooms are still bold, able to reflect the smallest amount of light, and each a reminder to embrace any opportunity to see in a new and unexpected way.
Now these peonies grow under redbud trees I rescued years ago from the side of a friends house. The redbud blooms the very first of spring, the peonies at the very end. And just as all these blooms start to fade the fireflies appear, more light to follow in the dark like a map into summer. I read the relationship of gifts, blossoms, the ebb and flow of sadness and gratitude, and the intersection of light & dark as ‘this may be how it’s all meant to be.’
So if you step out tonight, and see white flowers in this new way tonight - I’ve honored my missed friend for the insightful gift she gave me so long ago, in a way that she would loved. This is my memorial to my dear friend.