Posts Tagged ‘a mother’s love’

Today Pegman took us to Aosta Valley, Italy. What a beautiful place!

Isabelle, something’s wrong with your Grandmother.
Why not call her Mother? What?
Look at her quilt. No pattern. The threads are all off-kilter.
For God’s sake, she’s already done Log Cabin, Flying Geese, Bear Paw. Leave her alone! Let her color outside the lines. Let her be.
It’s not like her. Do you think she has Alzheimer’s?
No more than you or I. Why don’t you ask her what she’s up to? Such beauty in the colors. The velvet textures. The silver thread. Look closely, Mother, look.

Come here, daughter.
I knew Grandma was listening.
See this zig-zag line?
Of course.
The road your father and I traveled to escape Aosta Valley during the war.
The unusual colors?
The colors of the mountains that sheltered our home.
This is . . . beautiful. But you’re scaring me.
Why? There’s a sweet memory in each stitch and every one leads to you.

Wednesday/Friday has rolled around again. It took some time to come up with an idea to go with the photo our Fairy Blog Mother, Rochelle Wisoff-Fields, posted this a.m. but here is my 99-word stab at a story.

“Oh, Anne, you know Samuel’s dead.”
“No, he’s still alive. I feel it, here, in my heart.”
“Two years . . .”
“A mother knows if her son is dead. Mine isn’t.”
“But we found his camera. Shoes. And horse bones. All wrapped in vines and decay.”
“No matter! My Samuel doesn’t need those things to live! My Samuel is strong and smart.”
“But he knew nothing about the Amazon. Snakes, gnats, mosquitos can drive a man insane!”
“This was his third expedition. He knew! He did!”

Glassy-eyed Samuel walks silently along the Xingu River. Ten shrunken heads dangling from his belt.