Some event will happen in my life and suddenly her brush strokes reappear in my memory, strokes that I thought I had forgotten. She painted with words, too.
Here is one of her poems about love:
Love
is such a
Misused word.
I wish I
had another
to express
when
My heart is
A windborne bird,
When I see a
Strange wildflower.
(Kathryn Bradford Dyer)
See what I mean?