We are walking, talking, Mom and I.
Rambling down a long straight row
in a huge old cherry orchard.
Trees, lush and full.
Patchwork shadows play
beneath the branches.
You can't see it from here,
but just beyond the orchard
is an older, larger vineyard.
This is a place of peace and plenty.
As we walk, I tell her of my plans
for Mothers Day weekend.
I tell her of my day at work.
I show her my scraped elbow
and recite how it happened,
tripping up the stairs.
She is loving and solicitous.
Sits me down in a straight back chair.
Holds my arm and dresses my wound.
When she is done I turn my arm to look at it.
It is laced with silver and gold.
It sparkles like the sea in sunlight.
And now it doesn't hurt at all.
In fact, she has made it beautiful.
When I wake I feel the glow
of gold and silver within me.
(From a dream 5.11.01 the morning I was leaving for Portland to visit the kids. I actually had fallen going up the stairs the night before, carrying film cans. It was a great dream.)