The Disappearing Flowers

girl-on-the-meadow

It’s been three weeks since the lawnmower was pushed from the shed, it’s spinning blades let loose on flourishing grass.  Buttercups and daisies burn bright among the tall feathery green.

A little girl in a white cotton dress, knees to the grass runs hands with love through the lush softness.  Flowers escaping one by one through tiny fingers.  She imagines what it must be like to be a flower.  Do they get bored standing still?  She picks free from it’s stationary existence a single golden cup, examining it’s delicate body, holding it high to the burning sun.

Her questions are many.  Are they born?  Do they have parents?  Do they die?  She thinks they must because there are none in winter.  Pulling another, she makes a friend for the first, holding them like tiny birds snug in a nest.  She closes her hands as if a fly were captured there, peeking through a gap between thumb and finger, there they lie in the darkness of her clammy little palms, glowing, radiating, as flecks of sunlight fall on their buttery heads.

Taking a deep breath of summer air she opens her hands and blows them free.  Within the strands of uncut blades, they hide.  She struggles to find her floral babies.

Rising to her feet, eyes searching rapidly, hungry to find them again…but they are lost.  She looks to the sky blinking out brightness of day.  Her memory absorbing snapshots of blue, for the sky above is so very blue.  The same blue as the curtains in her bedroom, the same as the towels hanging in the bathroom, and the same shade as mummy’s finest china.

Her arms swing out as if she could lift from the ground.  She spins, dances in rings, a celebration of the day, of life itself, because there are many things to know, almost too much to feel. 

Launching to a run, like a springy young rabbit she races through the open door, into the shadiness, the cool, the sunless indoors, to tell mummy and daddy of disappearing flowers – the mystery at the end of the garden.

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Picture: Girl On The Meadow Simeon Oquist (1868 – 1955)

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6 thoughts on “The Disappearing Flowers

    1. Your grandfathers art? How interesting! Nice to meet you Christine! 🙂 I’d love to know how you found my blog, was it searching for this image of the painting?

      It’s a very beautiful painting! It reminds me of a painting my father used to like of a little dark haired girl sitting among the flowers in a meadow. I had a little print of it hanging on my bedroom wall when I was a little girl. I wrote this two years ago and I think my inspiration for this story came more from my memory of that picture I remember, and also my own childhood. I didn’t find this lovely image of the painting until very recently on another blog that shares images of paintings. The link I’ve made goes to that blog if you want to take a look. But it does fit very well with this story!

      But having said that, I know for sure if I hadn’t written this piece and I had come across this lovely painting, it would most certainly have inspired me to write about it! I do love art, and get very inspired to write by good art and photography.

      I do paint a little, but have not tried people yet – people are difficult, and I would hate to do it badly!! Do you paint?
      Suzy 😀

    1. Thank you! 🙂 Oh, yes doesn’t it just do that?! Growing up is for most a real destroyer of our appreciation for the small things in the life, we get so distracted by those much bigger things we almost don’t see the little ones any more. I worked as a volunteer for a while many years ago in a nursery school, and it was wonderful to see how those little ones picked up ordinary objects or tiny flowers in the grass, and to them they were pure fascination. It’s probably were I got the idea for this story, and also a little of my own memories of what it was like in those days when everything was a mystery! 🙂

    1. Oh yes, very cool!! I wondered if it was for real, you never can tell, but I hope so, it’s a lovely thought! The way we see as a child will never be repeated, it was very magical. I think I like writing pieces like this because it helps me to remember what that world was like – stretches my memory quite a bit! 😉 Thank you for the comment, and thanks also for all the support on Twitter – very much appreciated! 🙂

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