You are my son
behind my clouds
of concern
for you.
I cannot protect you
from the cold,
nor can I change
the ripples you cause.
We are made up of
every drop that falls,
every ripple we make,
and the mist that shrouds us.
We are the moisture,
the droplets of the morning dew.
We are the moment
the clouds start forming
until the end of a storm.
We are all that we make
for ourselves
from the moment of birth
and our death.
We make the ripples
that change our wake
and the wake of others.
You are my son
behind my clouds
of concern for you
and though I wash you
in that cold water,
I am also here to warm you
and though rain must fall
from that join of warm and cold,
you must learn from your tears,
as I have grown from rain.
June through Snow
we are the cold
and the warmth
of a summers truth
that although it ends,
a colourful harvest begins.
I AM your mother
and you are connected
to the sky, the clouds, the sun,
the water, the rain, the ripples
and all that grows here
on Mother Earth
and then she was gone.
For many years
we thought she left,
but it was us
who were forced to leave.
We have always been
a part of her.
That part.
And upon our return
that part returned in us also.
I heard her tell me
she was getting old
and the pain
she felt
in all her senses
was now speaking to ours.
That we are on the edge of a river
and the mouth of a spring.
We are a part of the Sun
and the Moon
of a journeys end
and each shadow
that happens in between.
That the sun did not circle
around us and our comfort
but from the place
we propel
to make circles happen.
And to be mindful
which ripples we make.
LauraLee K. Harris
