Thy Neighbor's Garden

Vanessa is my neighbor.

She stands in my garden, underneath the arches where the tomatoes she planted will grow. She holds onto our hug, I embrace her.

She is my neighbor. She helps me with my garden when my body is not able. More than that, she planted in a way that wouldn't require as much tending.

She lays soup and bread and harvest on my porch, at my feet. She shows up to funerals and birthdays, she remembers our mourning. She has been a witness to my grief as I have witnessed hers. She has been an attuned mother, a devout wife, a gracious daughter and the most loving of neighbors.

She crosses the street and sorts through my harvest. Her mind holds the worries of her world and she moves them far. She holds a basket and fills it with what she's harvested. My camera won't cooperate and it slows us down in the most perfect way.

I felt frustrated I couldn't capture her clearly then, what I saw with my eyes, I couldn't match through my lens. I decided to get it as close to true as I could and then not look so often. It felt like a block, I now know it as alignment.

My camera wasn't malfunctioning, it was more adjusted for the light we'd come to collide with.

This day was holy for her, and because I stood with her, for me, too. I was aware I stood on sacred ground but I didn't know until after, that it was All Saint's Day. She told me the week after and I almost attempted to write this story then.

Patience is a virtue and I understand more because I waited, I witnessed.

'Golden Rays and Marigolds'

I send her in a text after our session.
As I am moving through the moments,
seeing the photos for the first time, I find this one.
The day was bright and I was documenting the story of a gardener and what she has grown despite grief.

Of course I took photos of her flowers. After we saw this
photo as a thumbnail on my camera, we got goosebumps.
In the moment I view it on a larger screen, I zoom in and breathe out. I am in awe, of the golden rays and marigolds.
I knew then I had called them by name, but I know now,
the story of the golden rays and marigolds; I thought I was showing them to her, turns out they were for me, too.

All Saint's Day

She is steadfast and steady.

I cross the street and I walk into her garden. She stands under her arch, collecting marigolds.

She has been good and faithful and kind.
The bouquet she holds, she grew for herself. Sowing, slowing.

The vines above her show the signs of seasons changing.