Neglected garden animals |
Tattered flag |
Garbage from the orchard |
Dead plants |
Tattered plastic |
Webs and debris |
Kites, once vibrantly reaching 30 feet into the sky, are tattered, torn, faded, limp. First seen at a house we'd rented for a week in the summer after Riley died, I loved how they sounded like sails luffing in the wind. I ordered several to brighten our yard. Now they, too, are garbage. Disintegrating plastic encircles the trampoline. The mesh guard on the sides is torn like a large mouth waiting to eat children who bounce toward it.
Hundreds of shriveled plums never picked cling to branches. How did we miss plum season? And fig season? And pear season? Dropped fruit waits for rats to nibble at its flesh.
Tipped over pots, any seedlings neglected and shriveled. Dirt in piles near the pots that wanted to give life.
Disintegrating garden art |
Grief is everywhere. Neglect dominates. Barren. Unkempt. Untidy. Damaged. Broken. Turns out my yard is the physical representation of grief. It is so obvious -- I couldn't believe how easy it was to see grief all around me -- yet I had never seen it before. Shocked by this realization, I headed into the house. As I sat on the couch and uploaded my pictures, it made me wonder what else I have been blind to these last three years.
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