I don’t stop to think, is this new information to her?
We tell our mothers things that they already possess the knowledge of, the trials and errors of, but still our naive new breaths of fresh air are welcomed.
Her gentle breeze of proud washes over us, like the cool clean linens wrapped around our beds for us. Her hands fold like pow wow chairs meant for the two of us. A story sought and a story to tell. She wraps me up in her words and shines me up new like an abalone shell.