golden girl

It is my September baby's birthday today. As the afternoon light slanted, I decided to gather a bouquet of blooms to deck the festal table. Out into the yard I wandered, scissor in hand. A golden dahlia, for my golden girl, bright yellow rudbekia, delicate fever few, lemon yellow gladioli, rich wine flecked dahlia, mauve sedum, sweet, heavy scented rose blossoms. Autumn glory.
I remember the bouquet my mother and father brought to the hospital when this girl, a wee baby, lay on my arm, tender and tiny. It was a sheaf of green Bells of Ireland. It seemed to me then, that the occasion must be marked by flowers. Banks and sheafs and wreaths of flowers would have seemed too little a tribute. Let the bells ring.