Hon, I came across these Thanksgiving poems written by my triplet son and daughter when they were in third grade. Where’s my other triplet daughter’s poem? I’m not sure, but hope its already tucked away in her Memory Bin.
I hope you had a lovely long weekend spent with family and friends. If Thanksgiving isn’t your holiday, then Happy Holiday to whichever holiday you celebrate.
Continuing down the poetry path with Tree Tops. When I finished traversing the log and wires, peacefulness seeped into my soul. I decided that not only was I born in the wrong century, I was born in the wrong form. Because amongst the branches, squirrels, birds and bugs, I left fear, worry and material things behind.
My true self, the one who is happy and curious, who is once again 10 and 11 years-old, hiking in the woods inhaling the scent of oak and sassafras, waking up smiling at the raccoon on her chest, counting the comets in an inky sky firefly-lit with constellations, who loves that Tonka, a baby goat, kisses her hair with his milky mouth, who is allowed to forge a new identity with a name she’s chosen herself and is therein called “Flower,” that girl believes in her poems, characters and stories. She believes someone else will want to hear them, too, But, in that treetop world, if the only ones who hear them are the squirrels, Robins, Daddy Long Legs and Praying Mantises, that’s okay because Mother Earth and Father Sky are listening and Mother Earth and Father Sky value that curious, happy girl.