A couple of days ago, flowers were delivered to the cleaners. Beautiful flowers in a small vase were boasting their elegant appearances. They were what my daughter sent for Mother’s Day. My wife’s feeling which was buoyed up by the flowers lasted to the next day.
In the evening on that day, as always, after work, I called my mother to say that “I came back home after work.” She told me that she was so happy, because my daughter sent her pretty flowers.
As I felt thankful to my daughter for these, I called her. But I heard only the sounds of the answering machine. As of this morning, I still haven’t heard her voice yet. In fact, this is not unusual. Rather, I’m used to it.
As I wrote in the last weekly letter that I strolled in White Clay Creek Park, one of my old customers introduced to me a good walk path in the park.
Yesterday, I walked in that path after closing the store. While I was walking, Henry David Thoreau’s words came across my mind.
“As you approach the wood & even walk through it–the trees do not affect you as large–but as surely as you go quite up to one, you are surprised. The very lichens & mosses which cover the rocks under these trees seem & probably are in some respects peculiar– Such a wood–at the same time that it suggests antiquity–impacts a usual dignity to the earth.” <Journal, Nov. 2, 1860>-
Suddenly, I thought that family might be the same as the woods which Thoreau talked about.
It’s Mother’s Day.
I wish that you’ll have a day in which surprising and mysterious gratitude for not just mother, but also every single person in the family, just like trees in the woods, is overflowing.
From your cleaners.
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