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The Golden Crone: Brakes

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“We can’t return, we can only look behind, from where we came. And go round and round and round in the circle game.” – Joni Mitchell

I find myself on my grandmother’s porch. Next to me, her worn table. Beneath my feet cement marked with the prints of her children’s hands dipped, for posterity, in the slurry.   One of those children has passed; days before Grandma. The second child she lost in her lifetime. I don’t know if anyone told her but I’m sure she knew.

 I sit here soaking in the same sun, breeze passing through trees she and my grandfather planted seventy years ago and my heart aches with gratitude.

Gratitude and grief.

 Moments like this crystallize a sorrow so keenly painful my lungs ache. I am aware of being caught on a one way train through time speeding so fast it is nearly impossible to glimpse the glorious world outside my own head.

 Today my girls are preteens. Buzzing about, establishing a pecking order and finding their voices.

 Yesterday they slimed themselves with applesauce and enchanted their Daddy and I with their first words.

 Tomorrow they will own this porch and I’ll be reunited with my Grandmother.

 If anyone knows where to buy a round trip ticket, point me to the counter. Failing that, the brake because I need to pause  long enough to absorb this moment .


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