At this time of year, mid-Spring, to call a leaf a leaf lands… flatly. One word, for the myriad possibilities that the concept of ‘leaf’ contains. The trees that hem the hospital grounds are multiple gradations of green. Queen amongst them, one stunning specimen that is a pinky, salmony, rhubarby red. Sunlight between the branches has a champagne-like quality. Leaves are soft and floppy, starfish bobbing on waves of breeze. They have not yet thickened enough to rebuff the light, not yet lost their translucence.
I love this piece so much Lizzie, it moved me to gentle tears. Perhaps not sad tears, perhaps they came more from a feeling of connection and a sense that we are all in this together. Because watching our parents getting older and their minds potentially start to go is a lonely place to be in one's own head. You have made that place less lonely. Thank you for your beautiful words.
I'm happy to know that this has eased that sense of loneliness, Amanda. We write in order to connect, don't we? Thank you, as always, for being my honest and insightful writing buddy x
Your words are poetry in motion, tumbling out, it seems, like leaves. This conversation - you speaking directly to your mum - choked me up ❤️ There are photographers, women mostly, who have documented their mothers experiencing dementia. I don't know if these would resonate with you, or if they'd be too difficult (or frustrating even) to look at, but some notable ones are Helen Rimell and Cheryle St Onge... Perhaps you know of them already... Their images came to mind upon reading your beautiful, honest prose.
Thank you, Al. That means a lot to me 🙏 I had heard of Helen Rimell, but not Cheryle St Onge. I've just been looking online at some of their work and it's both difficult and beautiful. And necessary...
I love this piece so much Lizzie, it moved me to gentle tears. Perhaps not sad tears, perhaps they came more from a feeling of connection and a sense that we are all in this together. Because watching our parents getting older and their minds potentially start to go is a lonely place to be in one's own head. You have made that place less lonely. Thank you for your beautiful words.
I'm happy to know that this has eased that sense of loneliness, Amanda. We write in order to connect, don't we? Thank you, as always, for being my honest and insightful writing buddy x
Your words are poetry in motion, tumbling out, it seems, like leaves. This conversation - you speaking directly to your mum - choked me up ❤️ There are photographers, women mostly, who have documented their mothers experiencing dementia. I don't know if these would resonate with you, or if they'd be too difficult (or frustrating even) to look at, but some notable ones are Helen Rimell and Cheryle St Onge... Perhaps you know of them already... Their images came to mind upon reading your beautiful, honest prose.
Thank you, Al. That means a lot to me 🙏 I had heard of Helen Rimell, but not Cheryle St Onge. I've just been looking online at some of their work and it's both difficult and beautiful. And necessary...