Wild Flowers
Pepper Scott
This is the time of year when purple asters begin to take the place of the golden alfalfa, while the soft haze of Russian sage yields the high desert canvas to the bright, showy yellow of chamisa.
Terry and I used to drive through these fields, our eyes feasting on the seas of color Mother Nature so generously shared.
Our sweet furbaby Sammie would walk and play with me in the midst of those blossoms. We’d return home with a little bouquet of stems gathered along the roadside, keeping them alive a little longer in a small vase.
The seasons keep changing. Mother Nature never ceases to give.
But time has passed.
The spaces are no longer the same.
The wild things of our life have moved on.
Memory is what stands still.
