Windows to the Inside
Beauty in the Golden Hour
This week, I have been staying at my Mom’s house in Hermitage, TN (a suburb of Nashville), to care for her as she recovers from surgery. Between gentle nudges for her to take medicine (she does not like painkillers), mucking about in her garden, cleaning the house, grocery shopping, and cooking lots of food, it has been a pretty chill week overall.
I go for long, solitary walks in the neighborhood every afternoon, in addition to walking the family dog, Roxy. The spring season has finally arrived in Middle Tennessee. Leaves are sprouting out of previously dormant trees. Flowers of all shapes and colors are blooming. The wind outside distributes the warmth of the sun.
Spring always inspires me to do more photography with my seemingly old-school Sony DSLR camera. (As wonderful as my iPhone camera is, it does not give me enough control over how I want to capture an image.)
A couple of days ago, after my long walk, the light in the golden hour just before sunset was particularly luminous. I rushed inside to get my camera and took photos of my mom’s garden and house.
Today, I give you a peek into a beloved place in my life. We have had countless family meals here. My mom’s garden is one of the best in the neighborhood. We have made memories in this home that I will carry for the rest of my life.
I present to you windows to a home and garden bathed in golden light.
Take a peek and enjoy the views.
A Dogwood tree blooms in the front yard.
There is a geometric border between two distinct regions in the garden.
We have only one of these iris blooms so far, but more are coming.
I have actually seen birds bathe and drink from this bird bath. It is so delightful to see.
Hardy and resilient, hostas are one of the dominant plants in my mom’s garden. They come back every year ferociously and require little maintenance. These perennials are also quite lush and beautiful.
Plenty of little flowers poke through thick beds of ivy.
The big flowers are taking their time. These peony buds will be bursting at the seams soon enough.
Except for the grown trees, my mom planted everything in her garden.
Sunlight vanishes from the shadows in the back yard.
Shadows and speckled light drape across the back of the house.
Sunset recedes through the trees in the back yard.
At the end of my long walks, I often approach my mom’s house with thoughts of the impermanence of all things. It is quite likely that someday another family will call this place home. They may never know about the willful little Asian woman who spent countless hours and days growing beauty and richness out of the soil. They will never know about the memories and moments shared by a little immigrant family who gathered here.
At least I know these things now.
This is the sweetest comfort.