On Mother’s Day in the misty afternoon weather I cleaned up the little flower bed near the cabin. Mom and I had planted this small corner two years prior with iris, astilbe, and other flowers she had brought up from her garden. There was a light rain. The birds were subdued, waiting for a break. I chose this spot to bury her ashes on the following day with Dad and Aaron. It seemed like a good location, next to the cabin. A social location, so that I could walk by and say “Hi Mom.”
I pulled away the decomposing fall leaves from each plant. The smell of leaf mold tickled my nose. I could hear Mom’s voice “The best compost, Jenna. Leave it.” and so I did. I added some tiny pansies and an appropriately named ‘Gartenmeister’ fuchsia to join the old guard iris. I rearranged the rock border and scrubbed the marble memorial marker free of long-winter wear and tear.
As I finished my tasks, I looked up to see a chestnut-sided warbler staring down at me from a thin branch above the site. I stood up slowly. The little blond-headed bird looked at me and hopped further down the branch. It was within arms reach now. “Hi, Mom” I whispered. The bird cocked its head. We regarded each other, silently, for a time. And then she flew lightly into the woods.
