You do remember those days, don’t you? When you were a small child and frolicking in the yard, the meadow or the field and a glimpse of a pretty color caught your eye. Remember? Immediately you ran to it—a pretty flower (or weed) and you had to pick it. To gift to who else—Mother.
She’d act excited and find a mason jar to place your pretty hand selected bouquet in. Maybe it was daisies, ironweed, dandelions, purple clover or honeysuckle, whatever you could find. It was a prized possession—a handpicked bouquet for mother.
Days go by so quickly, have you noticed. Perhaps momma isn’t earthly anymore. She’s moved on. Perhaps your little ones are all grown up and don’t frolic in the meadow so much anymore. But your memories never fade. Or, if like me, while mowing grass yesterday, I caught a glimpse of that pretty color in the meadow beckoning–Come Sherry, remember? come, be a child once more. Pick the flowers as you once did when you hadn’t a care in the world. And with that I couldn’t help myself. I could have scoffed at the voice that beckoned me to pick, but as you can see, I did pick flowers, wonderful flowers, here, there and everywhere. And I did reminisce and I did remember those days of lore. And once again I was that small child frolicking in the meadow from one color to the next running through the tall grass, and I thought, life is good to allow myself to be a child again.
Happy Mother’s Day!