How lucky you are not only to have such a collaborator, Vincent, but
still to have her with you...
Doug
On 20-Jul-05, at 7:14 PM, Stephen Vincent wrote:
> My Mother, 89, Observes a Particular Rose:
>
> I continue to do little creative writing exercises
>
> with my Mom. One evening, recently, I cut some
>
> white and pink roses from the garden - one that she
>
> no longer is able to attend and care for anymore.
>
> I placed the flowers in an alabaster vase
>
> and put them on the coffee table in front of the couch
>
> where she routinely sits after dinner. I take my journal
>
> and pen and ask her to tell me what she can say
>
> about what is going inside one of the roses. Without
>
> question, after concentrating her gaze for a moment,
>
> she starts:
>
>
> "Before one looks into the heart of a Rose
>
> One sees a very delicate pink, eager to come forth
>
> To come out in public. But, as the days go by
>
> It becomes much larger, almost arrogant.
>
> A central color is precise and ready
>
> To take the Rose on many an experience:
>
> Wouldn't you like to go further in studying
>
> This magnificent piece of budding life -
>
> Now really of much broader experience?"
>
>
> Similar to an earlier piece, I continue
>
> to find it astonishing the way my Mom may
>
> invite one to look at and value her life without
>
> being at all conscious she may be doing so:
>
> Before the final window of disappearance.
>
>
> I don't know why that last line came to me. But it seems
>
> important - whether she live one more year or five -
>
> to value the profile and fullness of what can still be given.
>
> And that we, too, as we age, be given the same gift
>
> which is just, perhaps, another way of saying
>
> "Go and be among elders, too."
>
>
>
>
Douglas Barbour
11655 - 72 Avenue NW
Edmonton Ab T6G 0B9
(780) 436 3320
I give up these words easily, they are easy
to give up, like changing currency before
a border: the cursive line between mountain
and sky, say, as perfect a mismatch as any
made in heaven.
Méira Cook
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