There is
something magical about a Jacaranda tree in flower. The really large ones with
their silvery crackled trunks appear enchanted to me, as though I could step
within their shadows and find myself a child again. How is it that as I see them heavy with
clouds of purple fleshy trumpets I am transported somewhere else?
Memories flood in and out and I feel a smile touch my face and laughter fill my chest.
I am playing Old Maid and trying not to
giggle when my grandfather, Jack picks THE card. I’m collecting warm eggs from
the chicken shed and feel the straw against my fingers. I see Jack’s weathered
hands twisting and squeezing lemons to make me a hot lemon drink in THE special
mug. It’s late and we are watching the Marx Brothers. I can hear us laugh.
My
grandfather, Jack loved Jacaranda trees and I think because he did, I do too. It’s funny how we pass our passions on. The older I get the more vividly I remember. My
eye sight might be a bit fuzzy these days but I have the ability to see
memories more clearly. They are precious now, almost sacred and hold healing
powers. I choose only to ponder the
happy ones. They allow me to ‘live gently’ when a lot of the time the realities
of life feel harsh.
What will my
children love because I did? I hope Jacarandas.
It would
appear I have loved red shoes and tea cups for a long time too!
The tiny blue
bells have already started to fall and soon at the base of these majestic trees
there will be a carpet almost as beautiful as the cloud.
