My Miracle

Yesterday, my miracle, so perfect, so small.

Settled perfectly, head in my hand,

Feet snuggled in the crook of my arm,

Hand wrapped around my finger.

Our eyes met in those first moments.

A connection formed in an instant,

Stronger than the cord which once bound us.

While I held my baby, you held my heart.

The days, weeks, years, they soon flew by.

Too many milestones to count, yet

Your smile, your laugh, your steps, your words,

Every one, engraved in my memory.

Today, my miracle, no longer nestled in my arms.

I find I must share with the rest of the world,

Your smiles and kindness, your gifts and your words.

You are no longer only my baby.

Each day passes more swiftly than those before,

You, my lovely child, embrace each one,

With the hope, the ambition of a child,

With the grace, poise, and confidence of a lady.

How fortunate are we who are gifted to hold,

However great, a piece of your childhood?

How covetous am I, to desire those pieces,

Still wholly belonged to me?

Tomorrow, my miracle, so beautiful, so strong.

Poised at the threshold of a future full,

Of hope, of dreams, of joy, of love.

No longer a baby, still holding my heart.

Grocery Day

        I always loved grocery day at Grandma’s house.  Particularly when we would come back from the store, running back and forth from grandma’s station wagon hauling the bags.  We would always manage to sneak in a few minutes playing in the front yard.  The yard sloped up from the driveway, just enough to justify the winding steps to the front door.  When it was icy, we would hold tightly to the wrought iron railing as we let our shoes slide over the edge of each step.  We played jacks on those steps, and marbles.  Once, I spent most of an hour trying to set a world record with my twenty-five cent bouncy ball I had gotten from the toy machine.  I was convinced I could bounce the ball and catch it more times in a row than anyone else ever had.  I was very proud that night over dinner, bragging to everyone that I had made it to over one hundred bounces.

        In the summertime, the very best part about playing in the front yard was the tree. It stood towering in the center of the yard, shading the front windows from the sting of the summer sun.  Sometimes, if you looked up through the branches, it looked like the tree reached all the way to the sky.  Grandpa had told us that years before, lightening had struck the old cottonwood, creating the fork in the tree that provided the perfect foothold for starting our ascent to the sky.  We loved to clamber up the limbs, seeing who could go the highest.  Sometimes our adventures went on for hours, others; however, were tragically cut short when grandma would call us in looking for the rest of the groceries.