Wish

Write at the Merge: Week 1

It’s a new year and new format at Write on Edge. I am excited about it because it parallels my new outlook for the year. In my last post I declared how I needed to get more personal – more open with myself and others. Well, I have always been on the edge. There I have been wavering for so long afraid to fall off,  yet proud of my edgi-ness. As I thought about the change I came to think of the edge as lonely, as something precarious, yet the merge is where you meet others, other people, places and ideas, and then move forward together. This can be even scarier than the edge, which is why I have probably sat for so long happily on edge.

This week we were given the word WISH and the song Past and Pending by The Shins. I’ve never heard of the Shins but found their music haunting and lovely. You can hear it here:  

Here’s what came to me:

Wishes

Pale yellow light glowed behind the houses as the chill in the wind bit below my skin.

My son took off at a trot ahead of me. “Wait up,” I yelled as I wobbled towards him on crutches. We had wandered too far away from our house this morning.

The muddy downhill was a bit of a challenge. He ran to the bottom of the hill and stopped, crouching over a yellowing patch of grass.

“Look, Mommy!” His little finger pointed to a dandelion. This late in the year, its white mane was in full grandeur. He plucked it out of the ground and ran towards me with it.

I sat down on a nearby rock and laid the crutches aside. He ran into my outstretched arms and held out his prize. “Make a wish,” I whispered in his ears. He paused, puffed up his cheeks and blew the white feathery seeds away into the landscape. “What did you wish?” I asked him. “I can’t tell you mommy, or it won’t come true,” he told me and then a grin spread across his face from ear to ear. I hugged him close to me. “You remind me so much of your grandmother,” I told him. “Who was she?” he asked. “She was my mother,” I told him. “And she died?” he stated.

The sun began to glow brighter and warmed the air around us. “Yes, she did,” I answered him, “and she loved you very much.” “But I don’t remember her,” he said as he wriggled free of my arms. “You were little when she died, but she got to meet you and hold you and love you,” I told him just  before he ran off to the side of the path to gather up a bunch of leaves in his arms. He threw them up in the air and turned around and around. I smiled to see such youthful innocence and joy. He uncovered another dandelion, smiled, ripped it from the earth and brought it over to me.

“Make a wish, mommy.”

Whoosh – the white feathery seeds twirled up and away. A gentle breeze came by and they criss-crossed each other and rose up to the sun before blowing away and descending down the hill.

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6 thoughts on “Wish

  1. Such a sweet story. I love the innocent way that children help us remember those whom we have lost with love. My children ask about my grandmother frequently and I feel very close and connected to her when I talk to them about her. Just lovely!

  2. I really enjoyed the way you twisted together the innocence and whimsy of childhood with the wistfulness of missing someone no longer here. Wonderful take on the prompt!

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