Itβs been nine years, and still, on these quiet days close to the end of the year, I find myself reaching for ways to remember my beloved aunt.
This time, it wasnβt just words. Near midnight a few days ago, I took up the brush – and this painting came to life: long graceful leaves, two standing tall, others softly surrounding, and one small twig touched with dark pink petals. At the base, a gentle wash of lighter shade, like the earth that holds all growth.
To my dear cousins, MS and MY and to her treasured grandsons, J and H who brought such joy to her heart and stories to her days. And to her son-in-law, KS, whose quiet presence she admired and appreciated.
This yearβs tribute is especially for you. In these leaves, I see her strength and elegance; in this fragile bloom, her lasting beauty. And in the quiet of the painting hour, I felt close to her, and to all of you who carry her light.
Every year I write, but this year, I painted. Maybe because some memories grow deeper, gentler β more like ink than words.
Today, I hope she sees these leaves and smiles.
Still here. Still growing. Still loved.
Always remembering,
Pat β€οΈ
