“Mom, let’s go for a walk by the stream”.
Thrilled by my son’s request who is now 15.
I packed some apples and warm soup,
He packed some dog treats and toys
for Datu who is also now a teen
Autumn has ripened
…… with walnuts and leaves of rustic green
carpeting our path to a meadow
surrounded by what we used to call the fairy stream.
A place so familiar and warm to a mother and son
…. like the season that has turned golden under the sun.
This is where you sailed a ship of maple leaf,
…….threw a stone to make it swish and whip.
Just across the little bridge
….. is a where we built a fairy house with moss and little twigs.
This is where the stories told of gnomes and giants who fought nature’s foes.
This is where I held your little hands, with nails that kept some piece of soil and sand.
This is where you gathered bugs from under the rocks and made ants wrestle on a broken branch.
This is where we mimicked the woodpeckers’ beat, and answered to their tweet.
This is where we bounced our voices against the space so high and low
….between the sky and our feet below.
This is where we found magic of the spirit
……that is perhaps not make belief.