an ode.

Have you dreamt in all of the colors of life? Fully exploding on the scene and holding nothing back, the applause resounding in your ears as you cresendo? So often life is quiet, gentle, like a peaceful winding stream and the mountain top experiences seem few and far between. I've never been a person happy in the back ground. I like to be right in the middle of the party, the planning, the intense joy of life coursing through me. It's easy to see how parenting came like a jolt to my senses. Going full speed I fell fast and hard down the waterfall of motherhood into the gentle stream of growing life, nurturing imagination, falling into the background of the new blooms in front of me. I can't say this was an easy transition, it wasn't. I often envy those to whom it seems to come so naturally. While I'm standing in the boat rocking as hard as I can because wouldn't it be such fun if we all fell splashing into the water. I have learned to love watching my children as they step out onto their stage, while they pick their parts, make their friends, live their life. I love cheering and directing. Who knew I'd have such fun back here with the rest of the stage hands. Sipping coffee while the shrieks of applause ring over the dancing imaginations of the new generation. Rising, gliding to their place, I turn to smile at the audience of life.

I have danced with you and loved you. Gently, fiercely. I pour the abundance of my dreams like oil over your head. I bless your imagination, your creativity as I cradle you against my chest. Hand in hand we walk through life, laughing at the clouds, picking daisy's, kicking balls, daydreaming as we lie in the tall blades of grass. Fleeting it floats out of hand and just as I wish I could grasp it back I watch it land in yours. Tenderly you cup the gentle life as it pushes too and fro and you wonder how you'll ever find the strength to let it go. Then all at once you purse your lips and blow and watch the seeds catch the wind and soar out of view. And away we go.

Photo by Heather Armstrong