a color story: forget-me-not flowers by the driveway

An odd suggestion for a drive rooted the day after a long morning clean. Instead of enjoying the fruits of our labor, the lack of internet in the household suggested otherwise. We went on a drive. No captain on the ship or the laissez faire energy pulled us into new territories: every area was up for grabs. After 7 years of Trillium Walkway as a destination, we decided to make that as our first pit stop. A tight turn for high speed roads forced the early driving lights up early. It was only fair for the car behind to take note of our rare turn. Our world was our world. Like the ideal tourists, a phone appeared out of the windows and camera shots were taken of the Trilliam Walking board. I turned my head and blushed from the activity. Tough roads ahead, we drove down the hill and saw rows of chairs by an arch with pretty greens and water acting as the surrounding. I felt confused as we saw nature bungy lines neighboring the place of the life long commitment. Actually, I wondered if both the activities came in a package; they secretly complimented each other. I was surprised to hear that we were quickly making a u-turn. The hills weren't inviting for our weak legs. 

Our next destination was the ski-loft turned cafe area. My brother received this information from his local friend. The place sounded like something the lifestyle magazine, Monocle would talk about. But they haven't yet. For me, it sounded hip and undiscovered- I wondered if those descriptive words meant the same thing. Regardless, the destination was right in my alley. We drove 10 minutes and we were approaching more hills. It used to be a ski resort after all. We drove through the meandering roads and I noticed a group of cycllists taking a stop by some rocks. Oh dear, they must have gone through some hills. We thought it was at this one stop. But, we drove along it was at a hidden turn. It didn't look like a welcoming turn. Again, the gravel left that kind of impression. Maybe it could be interrupted as a rugged, cottage feel. I wasn't convinced yet of that notion. 

As we got closer to our destination, it was closed. I didn't mind as I wanted to wind down from the absence of caffeine anyways. Again, we turned a u. On the way back home, the passenger mentioned about taking a nice detour around a lushest area Firefox via Brookedale. Okay. Now we were back in my alley. A local showing their way back - their ideal drive. I lowered my expectations due to the recent events. 

The small area of Brookedale surprised me. Some architectural features with unfamiliar designs even with the reach of online pictures helped me put on a different lens on the local neighborhood. I felt a sense of Bridal Path energy with the subtle undertones of environmental influences. The home made a place in the forest and not the other way around. I took the risk to see more and drive less - something I highly not recommend in unfamiliar territory. More homes with the owner's individual appeared as we drove by. Then, blue flowers appeared by this home's driveway. Everyone noticed the forget-me-not flowers coherent appearance in this property. I yelped, "wow, wow, wow, wow, wow" for those long five seconds - trying to note down every visual aspect. 

I grew forget-me-not flowers before. We received complimentary seeds from the Alzheimer Society of Toronto organization, a community I was heavily involved in my youth. I remembered the packet of seeds with the organization's official flower, the forget-me-nots. Small blue, low elevating flowers bloomed from the packets. I believed they were perennials but I doubt such a  feature as I tried to grow them. In the case of that magical property at Brookdale, I believed they sold an illusion where they replanted the blue flowers every year as an annual. Or, the blue flowers were given the space to grow and acted in their natural perennial state. Regardless of the plant's upbringing, I was caught under their spell - there was a streak of blue meandering like a river to the house. 

How could a driveway be so pretty? I felt like I saw this property before. But now I felt like I was ready for the colors. My eyes were ready to take the beauty in from my relationship working with the plant. This couldn't be the first time driving through the Brookdale property. Could it? I didn't bother asking because the possible novelty of that blue driveway left an aesthetic spell on nature's footprints. My choice of ignorance, my choice of story, my ideal driveway. 

Returning home. The blue driveway with the forget me not. I didn't even remembered what the house look like. I recalled the most beautiful driveway. It could be the ideal trip before that driveway. Visiting all the other unideal driveways. Why was my eyes focused on such a subject? Why did my memories picked out those details? Did they branch out from the blue driveway for the convenience of writing this memory?

I'd like to think such a beautiful thought. The forget-me-not flowers encapsulated my thoughts (pictured).