Pink flowers on a stranger’s terrace make me think of my mother and immediately I think of the day I sold my plants. They were a collection; a way of unconsciously connecting to my mother and I sold them when I moved to Paris.
I think of all the things I’ve sold over the past few years to pack my life up and travel. I’ve saccrificed a part of myself for travel; made a trade believing I could only ever have one or the other.
I’m ready to have pink flowers on my own terrace again. And I’ll continue to travel the world.
When you settle down in Cambridge/Boston again, I will bring you a big pot of pink geraniums as your first house warming gift:)