Indestructible

 

The two little rocks rested in her palm. She loved looking at them.

One was a lovely loose diamond that had been in her grandmother’s jewelry box as long as she could remember, and the other one was a jade green moldavite.

The first formed by tremendous pressure under the earth and the other slammed into existence by a meteor impact.

She could feel their permanence, their strength, their sheer indestructibility.

Her palm actually felt the warmth of it.

Just then, her dog barked, startling her, and the stones fell from her hand and onto the cement floor.

They shattered.

Wildflowers

 

Every year was the same.

She ordered several pounds of assorted wildflowers, enchanted by the photos in the catalog- veritable blankets of color.

Meticulously hand-pulling the unwanted grasses and weeds from her wildflower area, she’d scatter the seeds, heart filled with hope that this year, this year would be different.

Then, she waited.

And waited.

And waited.

Eventually, several brave seedlings would appear, and she watched them breathlessly, fingers crossed.

Did they bloom? Some did. Others did not.

Did the ones that bloomed self-seed for the following year?

Almost never.

But she never gave up.

There was always next year.

Crone

 

She’d had an abbreviated Maiden phase, cut short by sexual assault and early marriage. She had her first child at age 20.

The next four decades she was Mother to children, husbands, and old people.

She gazed at the woman in the mirror; not the naïve Maiden or the busy Mother.

Those days were over. Her children had grown and her husband crossed over.

He was still with her in literal Spirit, only making her stronger.

Calm eyes looked back at her, hair graying softly and laugh lines intertwined with worry lines.

It was time.

“So Mote It Be, Motherfuckers.”