When I was just a little girl I used to sit with my grandma looking at old photos, listening to her stories filling with magic those long and tedious autumn and winter evenings when it was slowly raining or snowing. She had maybe three albums and stories for each photo.
Many years passed since that day. Few photos are left for me to remember today those stories. One of them was her favorite photo…she was telling me many times that when she was 16 ( she was born in 1911) she went to a ball and a kind of jury appreciated her original dress with fabric roses hand made. She made it with her own hands because she was talented, especially gifted for making different dresses or costumes. I still have that photo, although now it is deteriorated, I lost the albums somewhere in time, moving from one place to another. When I look at this photo I feel as if my childhood memories were running again in my dreams. Grandma’s roses and her love for flowers, the way she used to cut fresh branches with flowers in spring, decorating our room, the fact that she was taking out snowdrops from the garden in February, placing them in a pot, to see them blooming early in the house and many other beautiful moments.
I wrote a haiku to match the photo:
quiet rain —
grandma’s ball gown slipped out
from black album pages