Memories are a blessing to have, they can make you smile; or they can be a curse and make you cry or feel frightened.
They come in all shapes and sizes and from all times of your life – memories of happy times at school, or going with a very good friend to the Giant’s Causeway and having one of the best walks I have ever had there (before my accident of course!), or walking the Lake District and Snowdonia National Park, or of happy times playing shops in the front garden of my Grandparents’ house in Scotland, or tall ship sailing, or being petrified of the thunder and running home falling as I climbed a fence as a short cut. Everyone has lots of memories, both good and bad, that are sparked by something insignificant such as a taste, or a smell, or a piece of music or just a plain and simple “remember when…” conversation.
It was sight that sparked my particular memory this evening, when I saw this picture on My Small Corner’s blog Flora. The memory is that of a book my mum had, which I think she had from a young age, it was Alice in Wonderland by Lewis Carroll. It’s not so much the book that I remember as such, although I think it had a red cover, and we all know the story! It was the pressed flowers that were in its pages. They were like little surprises, the most delicate pieces of dried nature that were carefully moved from one side of the page to the other as I read the book. They were a delight to find.
It is amazing how something so simple can bring it all flooding right back to the forefront of your mind. A happy memory of childhood days!