
Going down is the sun. Still warmth to be had. Precious.
Let me sit in its grace and give thanks. A moment. Spring.
Blossom. Lambs. They look at me as if they want to say something.
Make a connection. I see you and you see me.
Running after mum, grabbing at her teat. Kids.
Always demanding something. Mine are both beautiful
inside and outside. I say this all the time. But what do I mean?
I take no credit in their beings.These birds are singing out
their lives, building nests before they can rest.
But when do you ever rest once you have kids?
What a worry. What a responsibility.
Yet, they have forced me to grow. To step into this thing called
mothering. Like a pink bud, still clinched like a fist, there is more
to learn upon this journey.

