Connections. A Short Story.

First of all,

I need to set the scene.

It all started in a small town in the south of France

Here's the charming port.

Just look at those gorgeous water reflections!

The streets are narrow and mostly cobbled

and many of the houses are ocre in colour, so typical for the area.

Tables are set on open air terraces as early as April when the plane trees

start getting their leaves.

They provide such a welcome shade in the heat of the summer months.

The sun dances through the leaves, creating delightful

 shadows and patterns.

Can you feel the atmosphere?

Don't you love it?

I hope you're sitting comfortably with a nice drink.

Let me tell you the story as it happened to me.

THE FLOWERPOTS

Every morning before breakfast, she would water all the flowers in her flowerpots outside hanging on the shutters. I saw her as I passed by for my early morning walks. She looked down at me and waved and smiled and I told her that her flowers were looking just lovely, even more lovely than the day before!

One morning, the lady of the house was outside watering the bushes and I stopped to chat awhile. We talked about this and that and the subject came round to her flower pots. I asked her if the different number of pots at each window meant something to her. She explained that the four pots on the middle window, represented her family: her husband and herself and their two children. Her husband's favourite colour was red and the red pot with red flowers is for him, in his memory. Then she explained the window with three flowerpots, represented each one of her three grandchildren. The window with two flowerpots on the last window represented her husband and herself and their eternal love.

I asked if the pots along the edge of the windowsills had any special meaning. Oh yes, she said, they represent my friends and neighbours. How lovely and thoughtful, I said. She told me that there was even a pot for me… and it was the one in the middle with yellow marigolds planted in it. I could hardly believe it, after all, I only passed by and said hello, but the lady told me that this meant more to her than she could say and that when I smiled and exchanged a wave every morning, it was like a ray of sunshine in her life since her husband had died two years ago.

Won't you come to tea today, I said. I've just baked a poppy-seed cake flavoured with fresh ripe lemons I bought at the market! I'd love to, she said. I explained where I lived and at 4 o'clock she arrived holding a freshly planted yellow marigold in a yellow pot! We got on so well and sometimes there were moments of companionable silence just enjoying the view from my terrace! Afternoon turned to early evening and I went into the kitchen to fetch some crunchy bread, black olives, cheese and some sliced ripe tomatoes drizzled with olive oil.

That was the day that Charlotte and I became really good friends! I even got to meet her lovely family when they came to visit her for her birthday later that year.

Friends are flowers in the garden of life and from that first day onwards, I had yellow marigolds growing in mine!

Story telling

inspired by Visual Journaling

I did recently

HERE