The Church in the Wildwood

The Church in the Wildwood
By Mrs. Dutton (our favorite neighbor ever)

Come to the woodland this Sunday in May,
Jack-in-the-pulpit is preaching today.
Calling to worship the bluebells are ringing,
Up in the tree-loft the bird choir is singing.
Bright golden buttercups, brimming with dew
Offer the moss, a toadstool the pew,
No statue or painting by man-fashioned art,
But nature's own symbol, the red bleeding hearts.

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This poem is speaking to me tonight. It is making me think of my mom, my Gaga and my Grandma J. It reminds me of the summers I spent up North listening to crickets, locust and birds through the "boys room" window, marveled at the peace and tranquility the backyard had to offer. And of the times I have spent watching the birds out Gaga's kitchen window and hearing, "Weeeelllll, there's that starling eating the red bird's food again!". It reminds me of last summer, sitting with mom on her back porch, watching the male cardinal chase after the female. I am still amazed at how many times they actually flew through the backyard, around the front of the house and back again, making a perfect circle, a never ending symbol of love. It makes me think of my bleeding heart, planted right outside my bedroom window, a Mother's Day gift from my mom three years ago. It makes me smile, as I remember the Mother's Day outings each year when Cool takes me and the picklets to look for morels on the North side of the trees, where the moss grows.

This poem is speaking to me tonight.

It is whispering memories to me, reminding me of days gone by. Prompting me to think of Mrs. Dutton, the sweet little lady with the fantastic smile and sparkling eyes that could light up my day. Who taught my children so very much and even though they weren't family, still let them call her grandma.

It is screaming at me. Reminding me that I come from fabulous, strong, confident women, who each taught me their "something special". Cooking, compassion, strength, love. They made me who I am.

It is badgering me to take time. To stop and "smell the roses", to enjoy all that is and really see, for I am missing a lot.

This poem is speaking to me tonight. Reminding me how very fortunate I am, for I have not only experienced each of these wonders, but I can associate each one with fabulous women who have sculpted me in one way or another. OMG, I am really fortunate.

But the very best thing of all is that I can share these wonders with my children, helping sculpt them into the fantastic individuals they are now and will be.

That is a true Mother's Day wish come true.

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