The Cycle

The old couple sits on the front stoop of an ancient farmhouse, surrounded by myriad multicolored summer flowers, starring from a circa 1960’s colored photograph. Those flowers did not survive the coming of winter, the old couple is long gone, and the farmhouse has been bulldozed to the ground. Nothing now remains it would seem, only images captured on paper with silver and dyes. The photograph has hung in the hall gallery for years- Yet, for the first time this morning, it struck me- the flowers in our garden are the progeny of those very flowers, moreover, parts of the old farmhouse are incorporated into the house their granddaughter and I now occupy.