And so I did
this one important thing yesterday, I planted a Bradford pear in the middle of
a field amongst the other hopefuls. I see this as a confirmation that I will be
here yet another season to watch it grow and years later to pick the fruit and, in that August watch the
chickens enjoy the overly ripe pears that have fallen from the tree when I have
had my fill and have given away and dehydrated until I’m done. I will watch
with delight as I let them out of their coop and they run and waddle to the space
beneath the tree where they are so satisfied and happy. They will pay me again
with the eggs they lay, the eggs that have become part of the tree that is part
of the ground that is part of the Bradford Pear I planted today!
 |
| a water break |
It is
Sunday morning now and my sleep was crowded with images and dreams. I woke to the clinking
of wind chimes right outside of my window instead of the harshness of the alarm,
but even with this lovely awakening, I feel somewhat downhearted from my dreams.
They were not bad dreams but they were imaginings of my life – mostly of me and
Elizabeth.
She was little, something I always thought she would be and we were
here in the middle of a summer day or a week end and I said, “let’s ride over
to …”and we got in the car, she with her pigtails and missing front teeth and
me with my youth and a day to enjoy and we went on an adventure. On the way, I held
her tiny hand as I drove – something I always did and we listened to the
Beatles, something we always did, and we did “something”. I didn’t recall what
we did in my dream, for that was not the importance, the importance was that we
“did”, that she has been my little friend, my little companion for 18 years and
soon she will be someone I rarely see. 
It is not nearly June, not nearly
graduation and my heart is already tender. These children, these changes – they
take your heart, they make you grow, and then they become these wonderful
people that find their own lives – just as they should, just as we want. But, I
think every mother reading this knows they all still have little hands to hold.
miss u
p s
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