Yellow Bloom

Today, the snow has completely melted and I noticed this lone yellow crocus in my yard.  Seeing it blooming gave me a wonderful feeling that maybe spring was getting ready to show its face.  March is known to be the snowiest month in Colorado but the splash of yellow cheered me up as I realized that spring might arrive next month.

It also reminded me of my granddaughter who loved flowers.  As a tiny toddler, she would gravitate to flowers and it didn't matter what color or if they were blooms from weeds, she loved them. With gentle fingers, she would caress any flower that she happened to see.  In her own language, which no one could understand, she would talk to the flowers.

One time when she was coming to visit me from California, I wrote Grandmother's Garden for her.

Grandmother's Garden

The grandmother,

knowing how much the baby loved flowers,

decided to plant a garden for the tiny child.

Bending her arthritic knees

 to the ground.

she dug into the clay dirt.

Petunias, pansies, geraniums

and those little flowers that

were guaranteed to

spread like a carpet of blue,

were placed into the spaded earth.

Daily, the Grandmother nurtured the garden.

She whispered to the plants, watered

and knew, deep in her heart,

that when her granddaughter

arrived, she would love

the rainbow of colors.

It made her happy knowing how her

granddaughter would love

the flowers.

Suddenly,

a heat wave like there had never been before,

caused the tiny plants to gasp for life.

How they struggled to live.

Many died as they shriveled,

turned brown,

and gave up their fight to survive.

A few, continued to

dig their roots,

drank thirstily when they could

and tried to bloom.

On the day the granddaughter arrived,

The Grandmother, who had wanted the

baby to be greeted by color

knew the garden would

not please the child. 

The little girl

got out of the car

ran straight to a lone flower

that had survived.

She knelt beside it,

talked to it,

admired the yellow bloom

and turning to her Grandmother,

smiled.

E. Moscoso

June 30, 1998

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