Jacaranda Jack

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.