{"id":3091,"date":"2016-04-21T15:17:07","date_gmt":"2016-04-21T06:17:07","guid":{"rendered":"http:\/\/persimmon-dreams.com\/blog\/?p=3091"},"modified":"2016-04-21T15:17:07","modified_gmt":"2016-04-21T06:17:07","slug":"azaelas-ablaze","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/persimmon-dreams.com\/blog\/2016\/04\/21\/azaelas-ablaze\/","title":{"rendered":"Azaelas ablaze"},"content":{"rendered":"

\"160420_azaelas_2_600\"<\/p>\n

Whether you’re having a good day, or a not-so-good day, the azaelas remain ablaze. It’s what they’re good at, and it may sound like a strange thing to say, but no matter what you’re feeling right now, I’m pretty sure the azaelas know what it is.<\/p>\n

A few weeks ago, when they had just begun to bloom, I took a photograph and thought of uploading it to Facebook. It’s not <\/em>a photograph in this post.<\/p>\n

\"160420_azaelas_pine_450\"<\/p>\n

This time of year, lots of folks are uploading pictures of azaelas, both in Japan, my current home, and America, the place I was born. Of course they do. The azaelas are magnificent. Their colors are so alive.<\/p>\n

No joking, on a day like today, I feel as if I can hear<\/em> them standing tall, fazed by nothing, proclaiming in song their glory.<\/p>\n

But before I could post my photograph to Facebook, a Facebook friend posted his. When I saw his<\/em> photograph, I felt something very deeply. There were so many pictures of azaelas uploaded on Facebook, but this one I felt could have been one I had taken myself.<\/p>\n

\"160420_white_azaelas_600\"<\/p>\n

Actually, I felt as if I’d taken his picture—and he’d taken mine.<\/p>\n

Of all the photos uploaded, his was the only one that\u00a0made me feel that way.<\/p>\n

\"160420_purple_azaelas_600\"<\/p>\n

So I didn’t post mine. I felt mine was already up.<\/p>\n

He had sent me a friend request\u00a0only a few months ago.\u00a0 He was someone who had lived up the street from me when I was in high school, someone whose name I knew, but not someone I had ever spoken to much, if at all. He was a couple of years younger than me.<\/p>\n

But I usually liked his posts.<\/p>\n

\"160420_azaelas_1_600\"<\/p>\n

Not always, but sometimes, when I looked at his images (ones that he was sharing with everyone, of course), I felt as if we were standing\u00a0in front of them\u00a0together, looking at them together, seeing them the same way. I don’t know, maybe other people who saw them felt that way, too.<\/p>\n

Sometimes he “liked” my<\/em> posts.<\/p>\n

Everyone likes to get “likes,” but I was especially happy when I saw his name below one of my posts.<\/p>\n

\"160420_azaelas_3_450\"<\/p>\n

I knew nothing of his personal life, nothing of his views on political issues, but somehow, for a little while,\u00a0I felt close to him. I realized this before he passed away, but sadly I have realized it more keenly since.<\/p>\n

I won’t write his name here, I don’t know if his family and close friends would want his name on my personal and public blog, but I would like to express my heart-felt condolences to them anyway.<\/p>\n

From far, far away, it struck me that he had a knack for seeing<\/em> things—and for sharing with others what he had seen. I was grateful for that.<\/p>\n

\"160420_azaela_purple_600\"<\/p>\n

Perhaps a silly poem, I don’t know, but I offer it sincerely.<\/p>\n

My good friend . . . he passed away.<\/em><\/p>\n

All the while . . . the azaelas stayed ablaze.<\/em><\/p>\n

Unlike me, they stood unfazed.<\/em><\/p>\n

Oh, those colors . . . how they did amaze.<\/em><\/p>\n

Then I . . . could see . . . all . . . he meant to me.<\/em><\/p>\n

\"160420_pink_azaela_bush_b_600\"<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"

Whether you’re having a good day, or a not-so-good day, the azaelas remain ablaze. It’s what they’re good at, and it may sound like a strange thing to say, but no matter what you’re feeling right now, I’m pretty sure the azaelas know what it is. A few weeks ago, when they had just begun … Continue reading Azaelas ablaze<\/span> →<\/span><\/a><\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":1,"featured_media":0,"comment_status":"open","ping_status":"open","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"footnotes":""},"categories":[1],"tags":[],"class_list":["post-3091","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","hentry","category-uncategorized"],"_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/persimmon-dreams.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/3091","targetHints":{"allow":["GET"]}}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/persimmon-dreams.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/persimmon-dreams.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/persimmon-dreams.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/users\/1"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/persimmon-dreams.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/comments?post=3091"}],"version-history":[{"count":3,"href":"https:\/\/persimmon-dreams.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/3091\/revisions"}],"predecessor-version":[{"id":3103,"href":"https:\/\/persimmon-dreams.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/3091\/revisions\/3103"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/persimmon-dreams.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media?parent=3091"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/persimmon-dreams.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/categories?post=3091"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/persimmon-dreams.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/tags?post=3091"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}