Early this Sunday morning (India time) a friend from the US (unintentionally, I’m sure – she must have been sleepy) texted me, “Will you ever be able to come back?”
It was a sobering thought that hastened my exit to the yard for some fresh air.
I do not have a green thumb by any means, but, these days, in the middle of a three-week long, housebound lockdown, the border garden, lovingly tended by my niece, offers me much solace. The lines from Andrew Marvell’s ‘The Garden’ has taken on a far deeper meaning during the current situation.
How vainly men themselves amaze
To win the palm, the oak, or bays,
And their uncessant labours see
Crown’d from some single herb or tree,
Whose short and narrow verged shade
Does prudently their toils upbraid;
While all flow’rs and all trees do close
To weave the garlands of repose.
I think we all need to pause. To reflect. Just be. Which, uncharacteristically, is all I did yesterday.
This morning, I discovered that a new flower had bloomed.
As I admired the enchanting beauty of the amaryllis, my thoughts went back to 1971 and, in my mind, Tony Christie sang the song written by Neil Sedaka and Howard Greenfield – ‘Is This the Way to Amarillo.’
Texas is not home, by any stretch, but it’s a lot closer than Shillong, Meghalaya State, India.
Just beautiful!
Thank you, Dee.