Mom

I arrived in the woods.

A giant swing,

Daringly hangs between two trees

Surfing with mom.

Her kids arrive with their

Innocence and blushed cheeks.

Their smiles make you question

Your purpose.

The kids take their turns

Without argument,

But only anticipation.

They smile in blunt conversation

Holding onto their memories

Of what's to come.

As each kid takes their turn

The earth tilts slightly closer to warmth.

A white canvas sits in the distance

Between the river on the east

And the cows on the west.

Yellow turns to orange,

Blue becomes lavender,

And we become one.

She grabs me by my hand

And I lose my breath.

I gasp for reassurance

But her touch numbs any questions.

Her love resembles the creature with

Eight tentacles

There is nothing she wouldn't do for you.

We walk through the pine needles

And I ignore the small scratches

Because for the first time,

They tickle.

We use a kaleidoscope to search

For our destination

And fall, lost in freedom.

She walks me east of the river

To a dramatic forest and canvas.

For the first time, I feel tall.

Paint my child, paint.