The summer that I was 9 I spent a glorious week staying with my maternal grandparents. My Nanna had a special way of being able to evoke magic in the most ordinary moments. One of those magical moments from that summer was with Mary Oliver. She wasn't actually there, of course, but the impact her words had on my grandmother have stayed with me ever since.
"Every flower has a meaning, it's like poetry." I had been dutifully following my Nanna around as she harvested the lavender in her garden.
"Well, I don't like poetry. It's boring." I may have rolled my eyes. Nanna took off her gardening gloves and knelt down next to me in the dirt. For just a moment we looked at each other in silence. Her mouth remained a tight line, and I couldn't read the rest of her expression from underneath her glasses and the wide-brimmed hat. Her laughter broke the silence. "Oh but darling, what a deprived child you are!" She stood up and motioned for me to follow with the empty bucket.
I'd always marvelled at the stark contrasts between each of my grandmother's personalities. My dad's mother was loud. Boisterous and a little rough around the edges. I'd learned quite an extensive list of swear words from her. On the other hand, Nanna was very old fashioned and rather prim and proper. She always wore floral dresses, went to church every Sunday and spent the rest of the week playing housewife, singing soprano and imparting gems of wisdom. She paid great attention to the finer details, and she held my hand tighter than anyone else.
On this particular occasion in her garden, she lost me for a minute. Her words cascaded around me, but I was taking in her softness and the intricate details of the embroidered lace on her flowing blue periwinkle dress. When I tuned back in, she looked brighter ... happier than I had ever seen her. I felt an unfamiliar lightness as I watched her prance around the garden reciting Mary Oliver's poetry: "We belong to the moon and when the ponds open, when the burning begins the most thoughtful among us dreams of hurrying down into the black petals, into the fire, into the night where time lies shattered ..."
It's a moment that has stayed with me my entire life, so it is with deep gratitude and wonderment that I reflect on what Mary did with her one wild and precious life. I have just finished the painting below after hearing of her passing.
Wild geese everywhere are flying for her today.
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