I have grieved for trees.

A star magnolia sacrificed to a landlord’s ire.

A magnificent oak lost to a developer’s greed.

A blueberry bush we left behind. 

A new white lilac bulldozed.

When I was a child I walked between the trees and felt sheltered.  In quiet forests I moved freely, quietly, (and mostly unsupervised!) trying not to disturb the creatures seen and unseen, hoping for a glimpse of a white tail, a fairy’s wing.  I was not afraid.

Walk dog in a park by a school.

Repeatedly bare-hand a spitty ball that has rolled through playground muck.

Interact with dog, ball, teenagers out for a run, and several smiling, snot-squishy toddlers.

Do an errand.

Come home and eat the toast you left sitting on the counter before remembering to wash your hands. 

This is why mothers have immune systems of steel.

This is a true story.

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