One of my first memories was of amazement, a truly magical moment.
Gold threads spun from the rays of the Sun, a net of colour woven into a shawl with nature’s stitches that made the dress for the flower we call – ‘Camellia’.
Rosemary, why are you wearing my sunglasses?
It’s my Camellia flowers they’re so bright and gorgeous today.
Come in for your tea now, I’m off to work.
Poor Mother, she works three jobs as my Father lost his. She looked so tired and has lost a lot of weight, but I never hear her complain.
This afternoon when I came home from school, I was surprised to find my Mother still at home, I looked to my Father, to ask why?He looked back at me, pressing his finger to his lips.
Months have passed now, and my Mother was slowly getting worse and my poor Father was still out of work.
My place of solitude was and had always been my garden. Today as I strolled, I heard my friend Camellia whisper – where have you been? I’ve not seen you for some time!
And as I explained, I heard Camellia’s sweet soothing voice filling my mind.
So, I watched the busy Bees as they collected their pollen – then, I understood what Camellia meant.
You must come out into the garden Mother; I have something to show you!
We both stood quietly as we watched the Bees.
Don’t you see Mother how they all work collectively, how they are all just One, not separated?
I’m not sure what you’re trying to say Rosemary.
When Father lost his job, what happened?
Well I worried for him!
Exactly Mother, you worried yourself sick, you didn’t work collectively becoming separated by worry, and in turn Father worried about You, that’s why he couldn’t find work.
The hug my Mother and Father gave each other said everything. Father’s back in work and my Mother? She has just one job now!
Language is Universal, not always in words – ‘Camellia’.