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May
11
it occurs to me today that a mother’s love is like a stream: amorphous water that manages to keep moving regardless. trees become dislodged upstream, rocks float downstream and stop, and the water simply moves around or over or under or sometimes through. never stopping. knowing - in ways that only water can know - that eventually someone or something will come along to move - or at least reposition - the obstacle.
comes a storm or melting snow causing the stream to swell and churn, the agitation mudding and obscuring, making it hard-to-impossible to see through to what lies on the bottom. and still the stream continues to flow, eventually slowing down to its usual comfortable, familiar pace when clarity returns as the debris settles.
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good words. thanks!
the debris has not settled yet…
thanks, glennis.
jude, am hoping that’s the voice of empathy i’m hearing. empathy, not experience.