Grandma's Phlox

Old-fashioned friends.

Phlox bring me back to a place I used to sit at Grandma’s.They grew along her house on a grassy knoll overlooking the barn.

As the milking motors murmured at dusk, I would sit among them.

If you pluck the blossoms and suck on them, you’d taste a sweet nectar.

They enjoyed waving to me in the breeze. I just knew that.

Who’s to say that flowers and trees do not enjoy attention?

They’d tap me on the shoulder,now and then, to see if I was still there.

Often I wasn’t.

That sweet fragrance and delicate rustling of their green fingertips was hypnotic.

As the sun finally dropped behind the hills,I would be far away.

Reviewing the day.

Each and every day is special if you treat it that way.

Each and every plant was a little different shade of color.


My mind etched perfect,keepsake images of those flowers, and their fragrance and taste etched keepsake memories of my happy childhood.

Yes, Phlox are my favorite flower.

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