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Bird's Blog

Poetry, musings, observations, commentary, rants, confessions...and who knows what else!

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Location: San Francisco Bay Area

Teacher, writer, poet, grandmother, lover, wine-drinker, chocolate eater, beach comber, hiker, traveler, Giants fan, San Franciscan. All work on this blog is copyrighted material.

Monday, March 20, 2006

Rosemary

She planted rosemary in the deep, brick planter by the wide, front porch. The herb thrived, grew lusty and tall, and flowered purple every spring and fall.

Every day, as she went out the door and down the front porch steps, she paused, brushed her hand across the evergreen plant, gently bruising the rosemary nettles, releasing the strong scent into the air, a trace of it left on her hands. She carried the scent with her throughout the day, knew who she was, where she was going, and what she would return to. And every evening, when she came home, she again brushed the rosemary softly, a simple hello. And the smell brought her back to herself before stepping inside to her family, her home.

But Troubles beat a crooked path to her door, banged on it, demanding entry and paying no heed to the rosemary standing guard. Troubles kicked in the door, swaggered through the house, ravaged all that stood in its way and then left, never looking back as the door hung precariously from its hinges, as cries of alarm and despair floated heavily out the door and into the street.

She hid away, closing the shutters on the windows, creeping in the dark. She forgot the smell of rosemary. And the rosemary, neglected, untended, pulled into itself, stopped flowering, shrunk, shriveled. Died.

When she finally opened the shutters, finally stepped outside her door, she pulled the dried-out carcass from the earth and left the planter bare.

Time passed. She went in and out of the house, but she no longer remembered who she was, or even why the planter was empty and brown.

7 Comments:

Blogger Pete Bogs said...

beautiful... but now I don't want to leave the house for some reason...

March 20, 2006 9:04 AM  
Blogger Jack K. said...

Poignant.

It seems as though you and Alison are true sisters as authors. You seem to influence each other in the most delightful way.

I look forward to more of your stories. Both of you.

March 20, 2006 10:23 AM  
Blogger Bird said...

Jack,
You are quite right - Allsion's last post caused me to sit and think, and then, this rosemary piece came out.

March 20, 2006 11:03 AM  
Blogger Jack K. said...

Aren't we blessed to find such wonderful people? Myself excluded. I can't brag, or is it fact? Oh well! I'm glad our paths have crossed.

lol!

March 20, 2006 1:02 PM  
Blogger ffff said...

Oh Bird. How did you know I have a rosemary bush growing ( in the ground) outside my front door? I don't always remember to brush against it but I do when I am feeling meloncholy.
On ANZAC days (25 April) each year the ladies of Legacy hand out rosemary to the people..'rosemary is for rememberence'. One such day Clem came home and just bent down and took his sprig and poked it into the ground near our driveway. It grew!
Rosemary in baked potatoes, stuffed into sliced lamb, sprinkled on chicken.
In rememberance of my father and all his mates who fought in WW11 hoping we would never have to do that again.

Thank you for such a beautiful composition. I wish you had been my teacher.Well maybe now you are!

March 20, 2006 3:57 PM  
Blogger Jack K. said...

When you need one the teacher will appear. When needed the student will appear. We are all teachers and students. And on top of that friendship can be a part if the relationship.

March 20, 2006 5:04 PM  
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February 21, 2010 8:00 PM  

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