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Enter Poem or Quote (Required)Required LITTLE WINGS “No,” and they meant it. The dizzy seat almost threw the 8 year old. He was swiveling ‘round and around and around, starting to look green, ready to fly, free fall. Slip of balance to the ground would have stopped this silliness. So I had to save this big kid with firmness and kindness. Had him sit on the prop once more showing him how easy he could have slipped off his solo merry-go-round. “No,” one propped at the top with listless feet. Vigor not wasted on swings, slides, hide n seek. “Yes,” taking them by the hands, we walk to the bridge, locate the side path to the sidling creek. Recent rain filled its body. “Yes,” the oldest balances on a stretch of log reaching into the water. I must let the future middle-schooler stretch himself, but only so far, for if he falls in this grandma with an arthritic leg might find herself in an uncomfortable situation. “Yes,” the youngest can cup his hands into the water, stir it with small sticks…skip stones across its surface. “No,” to creeping out onto the log with his brother. Grandma knows there’s more potential for this guy to fall in, and this grandma has no desire to go fishing. Fine men in the making, tasting of life. Letting go, little by little, sloughing away the silliness — with grander and gratefulness, as Grandma loves the antics and abandon of their soaring souls. Love is swinging, sliding, listening to the beating of heartfelt wings. 6/23/2021
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