Garden of Mum

Mum sat in her aromatic garden, admiring its charm and grace. It was a cold morning, but mum never seemed to feel it any more. Her eyes were tired, life's adversities had taken their toll, yet the smallest things filled them with joy. Like the perennial ivory lilies blossoming among her loyal, royal forget-me-nots. The tranquil scents of lilac lavender, blooming among radiant Jerusalem sage, always made her smile. Her hands were wrinkly, but resilient, despite years of hard work as a single mother. Still strong enough to tend to her grandiose display of ruby red, aureolin yellow and puce pink roses. Mum always told me the thorns were like knights - there to protect the rose's fragility. That a woman is a man's most precious flower, requiring tender care and appreciation. Evergreen conifers parade along the perimeter of my lovely mother's garden, like a colony of soldiers, protecting a beautiful, yet delicate, Japanese cherry blossom tree. Mum always told me it reminded her about life, how everything was temporary, just like its fragile buds, that only blossomed in the spring and how the lightest breeze blew them away. Mum taught me so much and was my inspiration, picked me up when I was defeated, taught me that only in defeat do we learn. When the world tried to change me, taught me to accept myself, to love myself before I could love others and be true to who I am. As I sat with mum admiring the beauty of the seeds sown, melancholic tones flooded my emotions, wondering how I would cope without her. Was I selfish wishing to die before her, so I would not have to mourn for her, but it would be so heartbreaking for her to mourn for me. My contemplation was interrupted by an outbreak of rain. Mother simply smiled and said: "Rain is mercy from God, my son." Written 26 February 2016