She’s Like the Wind

It’s a beautifully sunny afternoon. I am watching the bare branches on my trees flail helplessly against March’s furious wind.

I remember – suddenly and vividly, as if it were last week – playing outside in the chill sting of such a -March day. I was about ten years old. Mom had carefully tied a scarf on my head to tame my hair and keep my ears from freezing. I can see the deep turquoise of the border of that scarf, the creamy pale gold center of it. I can feel the soft knot under my chin. I can feel the coldness, in spite of the sun, on my cheeks.

I miss my mom.

I miss her every day, but today, listening to the wind, it is visceral. She was THE person who, every day of my childhood, and, to tell the truth, up until I was well into my adulthood, protected me as fiercely as the wind is howling today.

What a gift she was, my wild and fierce March mother.

I miss you, Mom.

1948

2018