we walked
those trails
through the four seasons
blues and greens of summer
giving way to rust of fall
grey of winter
and back again
inside this
for two months
my father lay dying
fading under morphine
and then for almost a year
beyond my father's passing
my mother's husband gone
we walked
when chance arose
while my mother's consciousness shifted to the other side
another trail
gathering beach flowers to dry
multitudes of bright greens and purples
growing between smooth round grey stones
handfuls of flowers
from hands that had
baked
and cleaned
and gardened
and cooked and sewn
crocheted and mended
knit and untangled
smoothed and soothed
held
petted
dressed
they gathered now these gifts for me
these beach flowers
to dry
"thank you" I said as they fell into the bag
"you're making me feel useful…." she said
