When the night comes and wind
swirls past the windows, our little ones roar
and rail against bedtime. Darkly
they sulk off to brush their teeth, blowing
sighs through their lips, miserable like winter’s
cloud-covered sky, empty like its bare
landscape. The day’s done in a snap,
the crack of snowman’s brittle twig, his limbs
twisted and crooked, pointing across
the yard to nowhere. Finally they settle,
and we wish them dreams of spring’s
warm happy sun and summer’s green garden path.
Tag Archives: children
What Time?
“Mama, Mama, Mama.”
They call like newborn birds.
They scramble to get to my criss-crossed lap.
They throw silky arms about my neck, downy feathers in the breeze.
I stop what I am doing, what I’ve not yet begun,
with an eye to future’s empty nest, my raising work all done.
Winter Strawberries
Backing down the drive we see snow and sleet on the cold stones and grass,
evidence of winter’s long-clutching grasp on Ohio.
We head to church, the grocery, back to church school,
and finally home where we hang coats, store mittens, and wash hands.
We dice red onion and cooked chicken,
slice black olives and grape tomatoes.
We layer the crust with olive oil, basil, mozzarella,
and all of our dicing and slicing while the oven heats.
The tomato bisque is ladled into glass bowls,
and the leafy salad arranged on ceramic plates.
There is talk of croutons and pizza,
strawberries and yogurt, and even melted chocolate.
Our little ones have already eaten a bakery cookie and a fruit-laden cereal bar,
but they come to the table anyway and tell us how they would design their menus and present their dishes.
The littlest one asks to read “The Little Red Caboose” before nap time,
and as I near the end, he presses his cheek to mine, his strawberry breath forcing my mind toward spring.
Generous Wisdom | Spacious Heart 