My daughter gave me a nice storybook for my birthday….It is called Grandpa Green.
It weaves the tale of an aging grandpa who memorialized the story of his life amidst his topiary garden.
The tale is told from the eyes of his overall clad, striped polo shirted, grandson……pulling his wagon amidst the memory laden treasures, each with its own story to tell.
As the birthdays pass, my aging mind remembers all my topiaries……the forms, the shapes, the survivors, the ones succumbed to failure and death…….
My masterpiece topiaries are my children……I hope I have shaped and supported their growth and sent them into the gardens of their lives with remembrance of my tending hands……
They, in turn, have shaped and supported me…..as the little topiary of mine who shares my love of children’s books and has supported my attempt at putting memories to page.
My children are all grown; their days of overalls and striped polo shirts long behind them……
But now, I have a little sprout….soon, he will be pulling his wagon, waiting to fill it with memories for his garden in life…….
The book is called Grandpa Green, by Lane Smith…..the reader soon learns his grandson is his masterpiece topiary as well.
……I recommend it…both for little topiaries and the ones who shape them. A lot can be told between few words and enchanting pictures.
Today’s post is dedicated to my own little topiary and the sprout she now tends in her own garden in life……..