My memory from those days is touch and go. Some things pop out with vigor while others, well, they’re just not there. Or maybe they are and I just don’t know how to find them. It does that to your mind, clouds it over with a haze. But occasionally within that haze is a clearing, just for an instant. And clearing really is the perfect word for it because for that moment everything is clearly seen, the good and the bad, the beautiful, the startling, and the scary.
I was in the Chicago botanic garden greenhouse after a session (back when we did those things in person). It was still morning, drizzling outside. I was off work that day and didn’t feel like going home. I wanted to be out among the beauty so I suppressed the familiar weariness of those days and went exploring.
I don’t recall every specific plant I saw, the names of the flowers, the themed sections that were installed to create a feeling of immersion. Now you’re in Japan. Now you’re in the tropics. But I do remember this one wall. It was located deep in the middle of the garden, where the greenery faded away to an open space, the vastness of the glass building in stark contrast to the jungles within. That tall, stone wall. I hadn’t even realized I remembered it until a picture of it floated through my feed, an acquaintance who visited and snapped a picture. There was no caption. I knew what it was and where they were. And just like that, I’m back there. And I remember things very clearly.
Note: I couldn’t find an image of the wall, so here’s this one from their orchid show.
