Mag 236 — Moth at Mindfulness Camp

We were meditators, Buddhists, and
free spirits, we walked in the sand,
danced in waves, sang fireside,
worked side by side
in happy labor, sat side by side
in locked silence needing no key
but to return to our breath,
to that one moment, the
only breath, the only moment.

Some brought their kids there too, the cutest
things, sweet groundling sprites
with painted faces and spirits so
pure, who warmed in friendship
and made plays for us, whose bows
to us in the great hall made me cry,
they caught the first light of dawn to
find low tide where the caves told
them secrets, maybe only one secret.

The youngest, age five, caught me
walking one day to the lodge, ran
to me, said I could see her moth -
Come, come - her eyes all alight,
she led me to a corner of the deck
then reverently lifted the moth
and put it in my hand, and I said I
hoped it had had a happy life, and
she whispered It never knew winter.


Written for The Mag: Mag 236 that inspired with the above image prompt.
My picture of the child in the poem is below.

.

the youngest child

When I read the tender and nearly mystical post about her daughter, Lola, the youngest in their family, written by Maggie May (whose writing takes my breath away with its heart-wrenching, lusty, earthy, soulful expressions of love, loss, and more love) I thought of what my mother meant to her family once upon a time.

She was Margaret, there in the first photo sitting on her brother Marshall's tummy, circa 1916. The tiny 1-1/2"x2" photo wasn't preserved well, which indicates to me that it either was not a favorite of her mother's, the protector of photos and all memorabilia, or that it was so well loved by someone in the family that it was kept out, or maybe treasured in a wallet and shown often. No matter the wear.....the love still shines through.

There she is with the whole family in their only formal family portrait. The boys: Jim, the eldest, Marshall, the middle brother, and Richard, the youngest must have been told to be on their best behavior for the photograph and little Margaret would follow their lead, always, because she idolized them. She is what, maybe three years old, in this portrait? That would give Richard and her -- so close they were -- only seven more years together before he was killed in an auto accident in his junior year of high school. His death devastated that strong, loving family and it informed the way Margaret loved the men, including four husbands, in her future: grasping, testing, wanting, rejecting.

But before the sadness and challenges to come there were these and many more moments of contentment and grace.

.