Blue Eyes
My father visited me in a dream recently. It was the first time since he died, almost 40 years ago. I've seen my mother (who's been gone 30 years) a few times in dreams. The last time I hugged her and asked "Mommy, what's it like to be dead?" and she said "It's wonderful" and I woke up crying, my face covered with tears. This time my father sat in front of me — we held hands and I looked into his eyes — the bluest blue eyes I've ever seen — Paul Newman blue. His hands were cold and we both knew he was dead. I asked "Daddy, are you lonely?" and he smiled and said "But I'm not alone." Again I awoke crying, tears running down my face. I believe them both.
Baby Green
Green is what I see now. I've waited and here it is. Baby green, tender and sweet, and it's all for me. I need to paint a picture. The trees across the pond, black branches, green dots everywhere. Every spring I vow I will capture this image and every year the green deepens and darkens, the trees fill out, and I sigh. It happens too fast to catch on paper. Green.
Hot Pink
Every year I plant hot pink geraniums next to indigo blue lobelia and white impatiens. I am loyal to the colors. I also plant lots of yellow, orange and red marigolds. These are happy colors and I believe marigolds keep bugs away and protect vegetables in the garden. I joke that I garden like a Polish grandmother (I am neither). Loud colors and lots of whirlygigs and windmills in bright colors. It's all very childlike and lighthearted and so temporary, so I savor.
