Tulips

Flaring green glass vase of tulips yellowed leaves turn celadon against the light the renaissance perfection of color saturated petals progresses to mannerist decay ghostly greens and purples watercolor washes sharp penciled lines outlining curling edges finely etched dark pistils silhouettes slender stems in perfect curves or cypress straight translucent faded petals flutter down abortedContinue reading “Tulips”

In Remembrance of Nennella (d. 4 January 2022)

My Lady of the Roses There is talk of roses And I think of you. There is talk of you and I think “roses”. The rose reflects your soul and you reflect your roses. Roses. Your roses. Pruned, nurtured, tended, loved. Perfect for that is your desire. Natural but perfect. Every rose in the rightContinue reading “In Remembrance of Nennella (d. 4 January 2022)”

Erika High School Essay, Age 15

September 11, 1944 About Myself First, I would like to introduce you to my family and give you a picture of my home. There are only four of us, my gifted, exacting father, my sweet, ever-busy mother, my impish, nature-loving sister and myself. During the summer we all worked harder than ever for before the warContinue reading “Erika High School Essay, Age 15”

Foraging for Memories

Once upon a time  little old ladies foraged for wild salad greens in the fallow fields along the road. Defined as weeds by many,  crowding out more urbane peers, these humble plants gave spice and flavor to what otherwise    would have been a more pedestrian dish. The little old ladies and their rough homespun apronsContinue reading “Foraging for Memories”

Watcher, Giulio, George, Jean IV

George and Jean In the beginning, before Giulio, before those others, who then became part of my life, there was George. Golden jade dragons: George was, perhaps, the first of the people who had meant something to me. I had never had a crush on my high school classmates – indeed, never had a date.Continue reading “Watcher, Giulio, George, Jean IV”

The Watcher: Florence continued III

I watched. I wondered if I could call them friends. Acquaintances was, perhaps, a better word. Some did though become real friends. Like il Dottore.  I had been going through some papers to find an address – I must say I hate to throw papers of whatever kind away, including grocery lists – when aContinue reading “The Watcher: Florence continued III”