MaMaLiRZ

We will picnic here, you and I with the wind swirling our silvery hair that used to be honey or chestnut, like a tornado swallows a house, our hair whipping our eyes and scratching our noses

We will roll in the wheat grass from the mountain top to the bottom only slowing to smell nature surrounding us.

We will twirl and sway like Maria in the “Sound of Music”, minus the trail of Nazis

And…

longingly gaze into our future from the moors, contemplate our past and cherish these moments of our present like a Jane Austin character, without the tears

We will not contemplate a man, but rather our sisterhood, the only true love.

We will frolic and play with our child spirit in our 50 year aged bodies. Any pain is for tomorrow, forgotten for today.

Stolen moments in time, alone, together.

I want more of this. Just this. 

Let this be.

Not just alive in my imagination or dreams.

May God let this be.

Until then may it live in my memory as alive as the decadence of nature swallowing humankind.