One thing led to another. I was walking Arthur this morning, allowing my mind to wander, when I noticed someone’s spent irises in a garden. They had not pruned theirs back or cut them down.
I wonder if I should trim my irises down, I thought. I’ve done that in the past. The long slender leaves are browning at the tips, and some are bowing down at the waist.
I know you can, and should, trim them when you transplant them, but I think you have to do that within a certain time frame of the blooming.
I should look it up online.
It would be a lot easier to leave them as they are like this person has done. I have irises in the the front landscaping, the St. Francis garden, and the Angel garden. I should see how the irises I planted last year that J. gave me from his garden are doing.
I wonder if the new owners of Mom and Dad’s house will keep the irises that J. planted beside the patio last fall. Maybe they’ll turn the whole swatch of ground beside the patio into a little garden. Or maybe they’ll cut the irises down or take them out and replant grass.
I should drive by and see.
I could take Arthur and park my car down the street and just stroll around the block. It’s not like I would be stalking anybody; I’m just curious how things look at the house.
I just want to be close to the house again.
I can never go back again.
And once more I am in a small boat in a dark sea, moving away from the homeland that contains the comfort of my parents, the guidance of their wisdom, the memories of happy years, and any future with them.
I am adrift. The spinning of the earth and the pull of moon move me yet further and further away into the dark.
Then I notice a light shining. And I realize I am not alone in my little boat. It is bigger than I thought. My sisters and brother are here with me. They have a lantern that glows in the night.
The light shines as we move away and the distant shore to which we will never return fades into the darkness behind us.
There is more light now. It’s Mark. He holds a bright light in the front of the boat showing the way, showing a way.
And then I hear laughter.
My boat is quite large, I see, as it fills with the light my children and grandchildren shine who are still here with me.
And we travel on together.