Saturday, July 02, 2011


the little grasses have a story
there is a great drama unfolding in this square inch below my foot
the tiniest little funny indigo beetle with a red dot on his bum
and funny little feet landed on my hand
and told me his story
it was all scurry and side-stepping
and I listened to it
the wind is telling me a story
as it softly plucks at my shirt and cools the back of my hot neck
when it caresses the little elm leaves as they flutter on their many branches
it tells another, sweeter story
the bright yellow butterfly listens to the wind's story as a blue highway
going only where it tells it it must go
the rocks behind our house tell a story of back-breaking
and skin-slipping
a deeply-voiced story of bleeding callouses and sweat rivulets
our red barn tells a homey story
of animal snufflings and rootings
of dark and quiet corners with biting spiders
and oil spills and ancient dust

I am learning to listen to the story of my children again
I had forgotten that as their mother, I am their first listener
their first reader
I am not here to write their stories
only to stand witness to the unfolding of them

I acknowledge that my being has always been inside of myself
and that I've learned to listen to it and write my own story
my story is
of a country princess who grew up wild and free among fields of wheat
rolling in the peppermint
and barley
and garlic
who grew up into a queen and moved with her kindly king to a rich land for many years
only to feel drawn back to her castle made of sky and grass and red barn wood

I don't want anyone to tell my children what their story is
no one has the right to do that
not even me
I hope to stand and listen to their stories and help them
know how to share them with the world
so that the story inside of them
gets made into something real
no matter how much money it takes
no matter how many hours
no matter the naysayers (why are there SO many naysayers?! those who do not care to know their own stories? those who do not care to hear the stories of other people?)
no matter the hard work
I want them to know their lives are more than worth it

there is a tale about how it can be when you are letting your story become real
the velveteen rabbit
tells it best


katiebird said...

and now a story wants written...I'm inspired by Adie's link to the Mythsinger pages :)

adie said...

This is beautiful! And I love how you describe being your children's first reader. That resonated with my heart so strongly.

changedmynameto mindy said...

love it. i am right there with you as a witness to my childrens' stories. i love your perspective committment, and strength. and yes, there sure are many naysayers.

used to be melissa

Rosamund said...

Always so beautifully said.

The Barefoot Crofter said...

You write so beautifully - keep telling your stories. An even the thought of the Velveteen rabbit makes me cry. xx