For the holidays this year Mom was very thoughtful (and Dad too; apparently he "helped") and got me something I had been drooling over for years. Every time we came across this artist I'd linger and run my fingers over all the books, smell their covers, and coo at the beautiful handmade pages they contained. While I received many nice things for the holidays, this is one of my favorite gifts. Upon opening it, I experienced it with all my senses then proceeded to identify the plants trapped in the pages.
As I sit now looking at this clean slate of a journal, I can't help but think of Mom and all the wonderful Saturday afternoons we spent together walking the streets of the greater Tampa area. Engrossed in the visual delights, yet simply enjoying the other's company and shared passion for art and craft. I stroke its cover and know that I am loved. I'm almost hesitant to write in it because then it might contain something less pure and beautiful as Mom's love. Perhaps it is a place reserved solely for happy thoughts and treasures.