Summer dirt pathway
to the laundry shop —
— hot pink gerberas.
Twice a week I walk along a dry, dirt road carrying a heavy bag of laundry to the shop around the corner. There is a small patch of bright pink gerberas that fringe the pathway and make the whole expedition a little lighter.
Every time I see those radiant blooms I hear my father’s 87-year-old voice describing his mother’s “red-coloured” gerberas from their 1930s dairy farm that skirted the rainforested mountain range. After bathing four little kids in a laundry tub, my grandmother would always save the water for her beloved gerberas. I wonder if they were the same happy colour as mine?
