Froggy

I always had a modern "fear" of my maternal grandfather; he was slow to change from the sadness he had in his memory, and this is as it was, because there was no proper witness or container - There was no therapeutic structure in place, where he could examine his wounds. But he was a brilliant gardener, a star in rural Victoria where he had his most enriching days - I delighted in his summer canes of ripe raspberries, and searched eagerly among them as a child, because there were, as I came to discover, always numerous small frogs hiding amongst the green. There was always something bountiful in his garden growing, and I think it helped to heal his dark earth, for his hands did have magic in them, after all. I came to admire him, then, and years later, only by going from the black to the green.

© Monika Roleff 2005