Posted by: Deanna | March 28, 2009

An Old Favorite

 

Before blogs I would just sit and write! Go figure! This is something I wrote quite a while ago when Mary was still little. It was one of my Dad’s favorites before I even knew he read what I wrote! My brother found copies of this and other writings tucked away in his room when they were cleaning it out after he passed away.

 

Through the Eyes of a Child 

Fall is upon us, even though here in the Midwest we are enjoying some unusually warm weather. The trees outside my window are almost bare; the brilliant colors of the leaves turning just about gone. Piles and piles of crinkly leaves lay on the ground.

Yesterday, my youngest daughter and I went outside to enjoy the weather. The flowerbeds needed tending. The seeds we planted last spring had grown, bloomed and faded. I needed to get the bed ready to plant the assortment of bulbs I’d received by mail order.

As I went about my task, Mary played in her sand box, her dog bouncing around her, trying to steal a toy out of the box. Somehow he enjoys this little game, even though he knows she’ll reprimand him for it.

The flowerbed was a sorry sight, but there were still a few decent blooms left, produced from the warm weather that surprised us all. I brought and empty coffee can outside, filled with water and clipped the flowers for one last bouquet for the house.

Mary wandered over and pointed out to me that there were many flowers left that I had not cut.

“Oh, those have about had it.” I said.

She thought a moment, and then asked if she could have them. She pointed out all the flowers she wanted and I clipped them for her. Her hands full, she made her way back to the sand box across the yard.

I pulled and yanked things out of the ground, banging dirt off roots and stuffing dry, brittle plants into the trashcan. Things were coming up easily, the job moving along quickly.

I turned and almost knocked Mary over. She had crept up behind me quietly. The look on her face as she stared at the full trashcan made me pause.

“What’s the matter?’ I asked her.

“Mom!” she nearly yelled. “Why are you throwing all these flowers away?”

She was asking about the few torn and tattered blooms still left on the plants as I pulled them out of the ground.

What I had seen was a job that needed to get done. Clear the bed and be done with it. She had seen something entirely different. The flowers I saw as bug eaten and past their peak time, she saw as beautiful, lacy blooms fit for a queen! Well, a three year old, at least.

So, I helped her dig through the clippings for all the poor flowers I carelessly threw away. As some were pulled from the rubble their petals floated to the ground. Mary bent and picked up every one, not wanting to leave any behind.

When we were through, she made her way back to her sand box. I followed this time to see what she was up to and found a bug purple bucket, filled with sand. All her flowers were arranged in the bucket; a beautiful, bug eaten, withered bouquet.

She sat down with her new treasure of blooms, some still clinging to the roots that were pulled up from the ground. Humming a little tune, she set about placing more flowers in her arrangement.

I left her to her task and returned to mine, careful to clip each and every flower, no matter how withered or bug eaten.

 

 

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