Still more signs of hope from my mother's garden

These tulips opened days ago and are quickly wilting toward the flower bed that is made out of a concrete goldfish pond the previous owners poured decades before my parents bought the bungalow I grew up in. Even as they stretch, the petals are so vibrant that it is hard to believe they are past their prime. I love them when they are like this, I love the colors splayed out for those who peek inside.

As silly as it sounds, I admit that when I peek into tulips, I have to whisper-sing something one of my grandfathers loved to say, "Tulips in the garden / Tulips in the park / What I like best are two-lips in the dark."

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More signs of hope from my mother's garden

I love it when the lilacs burst open and I am always sad when the leaves fall and flutter away too soon. The distinct perfume fades and that brief bit of spring is over. Before all that, there is the happy anticipation of how beautiful the back of my parents' yard will look and smell when it is all purple and pretty.

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Signs of hope from my mother's garden

I love Bleeding Hearts, and the day after my divorceabration, I was happy to find them in my mother's garden. They look delicate, but the branches are strong and sturdy. I was tempted to cradle the buds in my palm but they were so lovely there on their own. I left them suspended, lovely and full of their own life, more of a pinky glow than violent red.

These first two seemed to go together, and I liked that, Bleeding Hearts in bloom, side by side.

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