A rose tinted world stitched in the secret garden, a glorious afternoon spent listening in to life. A squirrel rummaging in the bin, airplanes coursing , parakeets squawking, a squabble of crows swooped in . Then calls and cries of children from the nearby paddling pool echoed all around, zoo like, alongside murmurs of hushed conversations passing by.
The garden shared secrets. As I stitched and took photos, the links between the images came into view. The dress I wore to mums funeral, ‘the world’ cloth mum bought for me from the fabric shop in Brixton, heaven scent from the roses ( she had a beautiful rose garden) and the exotic magnolia still blooming in July ( which mum couldn’t grow in her garden on account of the soil, but loved anyway.)
sometimes, you have to pause , whether you like it or not, to assimilate, before you are able to proceed.
maggiewinnall.wordpress.com 