Scribbling in Air

Dear Reader,

My drawing table faces the garden and field beyond, so binoculars sit within easy reach. An unfamiliar birdsong or a shadowy interruption in the light might signal surprise visits: a hooded warbler or a Great blue heron.

Sometimes, I need a break from work and pick up the binoculars just to see if there’s anything interesting out there. Last week, my enhanced eyes wandered along the stone wall toward my sister Jennie’s memorial garden and came to a sudden stop. Confused at first, I tried to make sense of what I was seeing: it looked as if someone had taken a white pen and drawn circles and scribbles - in the air. I checked to see if there was something on my lenses. Seeing nothing, I looked again. Moments later, I was in the garden to understand this visual puzzle.

“Money tree, lunaria.”

This plant gives nothing but joy, no matter what the season. Purple spring flowers rival a delphinium’s, which we cannot seem to keep alive for more than two or three years. Then come the silver seed pods which identify them as “money tree” for their resemblance either to large coins or “lunaria” for their moon-like discs. Honestly, that’s more than enough beauty to earn it a place of intense affection in my book.

Its winter guise offers another story. Once the seed pod disintegrates, the outline remains as a delicate reminder of what was. Now I understood: Nature’s calligrapher composed a song for Jennie in her garden.