She's bent over her garden,
tending to weeds that insist on binging on
her soil.
I see her touch her back
and I know she's in pain,
but won't admit it.
Taking a deep breath,
she stands up and turns around.
Startled to see me standing there
watching her,
she laughs a little.
I point to the sky and
ask her to come in,
"A few minutes," she replies.
I walk back into the house
and watch her gather flowers;
the clouds roll in,
and I see her look at the sky
and smile as if the gods have
sent her the rain.
It is then that I realize what I'll
miss the most when I'm gone:
Mother stooping to point out
the finer things in life.