Remembrance

A Vincent Van Gogh painting

I am looking at an old woman bending over in her flower garden.  The flowers are wilted but still exhibit their ageless beauty.  Some of them are standing while others are falling over in a heap.   But she pays them never mind.  Instead, she lovingly and painstakingly continues to weed around them.  Her nails are dark with garden soil.  Her dress is of camouflage colors; splotches of yellow and green, tan, cream and brown.  Her long gray hair is pulled back into a small neat bun.  I can't make out her face as her head is down.   She smells of the earth.  You know, that wonderful, cleansing pungent smell that wafts up from the wet ground after a strong rain.  She makes no sound but methodically goes about her work.  I can only hear the sound of weeds as she pops them out of the ground.   Behind her is a small cottage with a brown thatched roof and walls of weathered stone.  There is one long window on each side of the front door.  The front door is cracked open and I am able to peer inside.  I can see a dirt floor and several of the suns rays splayed across the floor, warming up a rather dark room.  The smell of something wonderful cooking fills my nostrils.  Outside, the top of a chimney is seen with smoke gently spiraling upward.  I feel the suns rays  warming my back.  I wonder what she would do, what she would say if I introduced myself?  Should I try?  But first I must determine whether I am in a dream state--whether she is real or not.  Who am I to say as I am already watching this old woman as she goes about her gardening in full view of me.  Yet, she does not acknowledge my presence.  How could she not know I am standing here, staring at her?  She is as plain as the nose on your face.  This scene reminds me, somehow, of a time long, long ago.  When the world was just waking up.  When it was just getting its bearings.  When it was all about self discovery.  When it would awake day after day to beautiful sunrises and chirping birds, darting dragonflies and buzzing bees, hope and love, sun and light, togetherness and bonding, a faint lingering scent of Lilacs and Roses, Hyacinth and Lavender, Hollyhock and Eucalyptus.  How far we've come.  How much we've lost.  Can we reclaim this lost innocence somewhere again in the future?  The sky is darkening.  The old woman lifts her head.  Her gaze is nonchalant as she looks directly at me yet she seems to look right through me.  Maybe she is remembering another time, another day, long, long ago.  I wish I hadn't seen this gaze as I, too, wish for those days.  We all need something to cling to, to hang onto, when the going gets tough.  And the going is definitely tough, right now.  We need a helping hand, a sweet bouquet, a kind word, a hug, a smile, a pat on the back.  The old woman's eyes are becoming dark, deep and intense--even sorrowful as they start to focus.  She has seen so much in her lifetime--both good and bad.  She has been where we came from and sees where we're headed.  She provides the answers we seek but we reply, "we don't have time."  This is a big mistake.  We will experience regret and remorse.  Deeply etched and entrenched fine lines crisscross her face  as if an artist had drawn them.   She finally looks directly at me and smiles.  A knowing, wonderful, warm and comforting smile that tells me, "Everything will be alright."  The old, the aged, the wise, the learned, the seers, the sages.  We can't seem to find the time to listen to their wise counsel nor do we find it in our hearts to respect them as we are the ones who have all the answers.  Our haughty ways and refusal to listen will be to our detriment.  The old endured hard times and learned valuable lessons.  They have much to tell us, teach us, if we but only consult them.  The Wise Ones do not desert their posts when we most need them.  They have endured life's slings and arrows and are waiting to be consulted, once again.  And the time when we need to consult them again is not that far off.