The Flowers She Drew

This morning, I came across these two white five-petalled flowers covered in dew.

My mother used to draw flowers just like these.

The moment I saw them, I thought of her. Not because someone spoke her name or because I was searching for a memory, but because my heart recognized something familiar.

The tiny drops of dew rested upon the petals like tears, yet the flowers were open to the sunlight. They reminded me that grief and beauty can live together. We can still miss those who have gone home to the Spirit World while being grateful for the ways they continue to appear in our lives.

Perhaps this is how love survives death.

It settles into the smallest details: the shape of a flower, a familiar song, the movement of water, or something our mother’s hands once drew. Then one ordinary morning, Kitchi Manitou places that memory along our path and allows our heart to find it again.

My mother is not beneath a stone. She is carried in the teachings she gave me, in the memories living inside me, and in moments like this when creation quietly reminds me that love has not disappeared.

Some memories return without words.

They bloom beside the road, wearing the morning dew, and wait quietly for our hearts to recognize them.

— Waubshki Migisi
from the heart of Loon + Sturgeon 🪶