I made this floor cloth over two decades ago when my children were small.
How did I manage it? Why did I attempt such a thing?
I puzzle about things like this now that I am afraid of a pencil.
What made me believe I could make a floor cloth and paint my favorite flowers on it?
I think I get this from my dad. I get an idea and become possessed with it.
I found it folded and smashed under a pile in the workshop last week.
I laid it out on the gravel to examine it.
There were those flowers from gardens past.
The dahlia that disappeared and the Texas Star from my grandmother.
The prolific Kwanzan daylily that I should have declined and a Clematis I loved and lost.
A white gladiola, a yellow Asiatic lily and a blackberry lily.
A Japanese iris, bracken fern and some bearded iris.
Bearded iris, Cecil Brunner rose that got giant, Bill Troutman poppy and a Sensitive fern.
And my beloved pink foxglove.
Maybe I’ll get possessed again and repaint it,
but first I need to get over my fear of colored pencils.