Memory

As a kid, I loved Spring. The cow pasture with the woods and creek had the most beautiful wildflowers that would bloom from April-May-June. I would lie down, nestled among Black-Eyed Susans, Daisies, Queen Anne's Lace, Wild Irises, Bluebells, Foxgloves, and tiny, blue star flowers, and watch the clouds go by - bees buzzed around me from flower to flower and white and yellow butterflies flitted about, sometimes landing on my tummy if I was still enough. I remember talking to them and telling them how beautiful they were. There is a tender hum of peace when you are in a place like that, where everything makes sense.