Mother's Day

My family fed me delicious food for Mother's Day and then kicked me out of the kitchen. While they did the dishes and put the finishing touches on dessert, I (naturally) "took to the woods."

A fairly decent breeze met me, and I felt rather romantic as my loose hair and long skirt were whipped and whirled by the spritely fairies of the air. It was all extremely Waterhouse-esque, and I might have been Juliet, Miranda, or The Lady of Shalott.  

As I pulled my jean jacket even more tightly around my body, I thought of the story my mom used to tell about the great contest between the sun and the wind. They had a bet, you see. Each wanted to be the strongest. To prove their might, the sun and wind decided to see which one could cause the man walking upon the earth to remove his jacket. The wind went first. He stormed and blew, huffed and puffed, whirled and whistled with all his might. But the man only clung all the more desperately to his jacket.

Then the sun took his turn. He gently, slowly sent his bright, warm rays to the earth. In no time at all, the man wiped his brow, glanced up at the glowing orb in the sky and removed his jacket. There is great might in gentleness.

I continued to think of my mother as I rounded the bend and saw the mother duck and her little ducklings making their way across the pond.

The next bend brought me to a lovely area that's tended by a woman whose backyard meets the path. She diligently nurtures a beautiful array of flowers, and it was the irises that caught my eye this time. My mom's mom -- my Noni -- loved purple irises. She called them "flags," and I think of her whenever I see them.

It was a very fitting touch on Mother's Day, and the memory of her and the gentle strength of my own mother warmed me -- in spite of the breeze -- as I headed home to my little ducklings (and a pretty amazing chocolate cake).