I found these little memory-joggers next to the stairs to my house.
Although I’m not sure what type of flower they are, exactly, they remind me of Queen Ann’s Lace. The first time I heard my grandmother tell me about those flowers, I imagined something stately, cultivated. Then I found myself in a car which was coasting to the side of a road lined with tall-stemmed, chest-high wildflowers that appeared to have been delicately crocheted.
Of all the memories from summer vacations spent at my grandparents’, that one is the most permanent. To this day, I cannot pass a lace-like flower without stopping and remembering the first time I noticed the beauty of wildflowers.