She had always wondered how, with their tiny wings
and even smaller beating hearts ever got anywhere,
but to another country and back?
And she sang as they all held on

"These are a few of my favourite things" …

She was like a stone skipping
over two sweet lives
as if children never grew and trophies never won
skipping one last time to hear her fathers’ words

You are certainly one of the marvels on this earth …

She wandered in her own wilderness
the wish for’s, the wonder if’s
the too many why’s
and she thought
What would it be like 
to have journals of one hundred women
one page written on the same day
hand scrolled words like stunning,
secret, starving
temper, temperature, talked-too-much

on whatever day she needed help
she would have a friend who understood ...

Days to decades connect like dots
follow numbers one to fifteen to reveal
a girl in your activity book
connect to that young figure of six decades ago
She used to connect
she chattered with chipmunk
chirped with bird all the while collecting twigs,
golden yellow twitch grass with
plumes soft as silk
She skipped in rain bursts
barely dressed when it shone

and if you could see her face as I do now
you would see
she still looks a lot like you ...

Brothers. How they loved to romp. Explore that is. Stone stepping that is. Those were All those years side by side, they trusted each other to the end ...

Oh what treasures she would look for in her grandmothers closet for dress up day. She loved the heavy, velvet lined jacket with two large leather buttons and the long velvet skirt was a perfect match. And the hats of those days gone by and she thought: imagine wearing this for a whole day ...

Some humans forget to notice the everyday things –
did you notice the key – maple – it twirled
right by you, landed on this spot to lay dormant
until the sprouting and growing begins all over again
and some miss the beauty of it all …

What lovely things thrive in a memory found in the back garden
Billy boots were her favourite footwear
and oh how she loved to lollygag through the meadow
picking wildflowers for her mother ...

Is there even a name for this old fashioned girl?
Feeling tired but energized, sore but stabilized, grumpy at times,
but otherwise content with her birds and ribbons she was just … plain … happy …

I think I know, yet
knowing was my mothers gift
She taught me when my womb
was not yet ripe

Why apples are best eaten crisp
how soft ones are most excellent in pies and
where she placed her finger tips for the prettiest crusts ...

They felt secure, happy, loved, mischievous at times, into bits of trouble here are there, all part of growing up. Father was part of growing up too. He was their rock, their safe place, their happy place. He held them as babes and would carry them through life ...

She had so many questions to ask like winged creatures 
with their multicoloured tapestries and she asked:
 if all the monarchs died, who would care for the milk weed...

She took one step into the August meadow.
wildflowers, anything but perfect
perfectly wild and free.

Goldenrod, like towering guards
kept watch over all.
Prickly thistles wore soft magenta hats.
Fashion conscious Lily wore a black and orange fascinator.
Anne dressed in antique lace fit for a queen.
And Susan? No amount of lace would hide her black eye!

In her haven displaying gems
of every shade, woman played a song
to late afternoon while seeds floated
in a warm and tender breeze ...

They used to meet in the wood, meet eye to eye, meetings not of the minds but of the spirit. An understanding of sorts. Out of the ordinary. Extraordinary it was.

And he stood still for as long as it took and bird made a study nest ...

One night, time seemed to stand
still

just beyond twilight, fireflies golden glow
sparked a time to sing
a song for the ancestors
grey wolf knows so well
such haunting beauty in nights'
first howl

it stirred her body yet left it still