My son died nearly 22 years ago at the age of 12. A few weeks after his death, some very kind people planted a public garden in his memory. One of the plants was this oat grass.
His mother and I have relocated several times in the intervening years. Each time we carried with us a sprig of the oat grass, planted it, and watched it grow and spread. Today, its offspring are firmly rooted in Kansas, North Carolina, Massachusetts, Pennsylvania, and New Jersey.
It is bitter cold here today. The ground is as hard as rock. Yet, without fail, in a couple of months, the days will lengthen, the ground will thaw, and the oat grass will return, breaking through the soil to begin another year to spread beyond last year's boundaries. Without fail.
Life will not be denied where there is love, patience, and hope!
50 years of photographs and 35 years of keeping a commonplace book.