My New Moto

In the midst of pain comes a swing. From the endless sleepless nights with each movement lighting a fire of mortality, to the focus of spirit to spirit she swings. The 'when will this end imaginings of leaving this frame' turns to a simple ' thank you for life' breadth. It is then the storm becomes rain. Oh that I dance in the rain.

Many years before motherhood my home was a safe house on the street (as it still is). All the neighborhood children came and visited me while I worked in the yard. One sweet child told a tale to me.

He was with his Grandmother on a trip to the grocery store. It was raining heavy. The Grandmother pointed out to the child a woman dressed in shorts, barefoot with an umbrella splashing in the puddles. "look at that crazy woman"; to this the child replied "thats not a crazy woman that is Mrs. J. (Donetta).

It is good I remember his story.
I dance.