I took a walk around my neighborhood yesterday and I saw such darling little purple violets here and there in the grass. They are wildflowers, just a tiny free gift to those who have eyes to see. What others see as weeds, I often see as flowers. Thanks to my daughter-in-law for all her comments and for all responses to this blog. I can assure you I treasure every one. My poem at first means that sometimes when we are closer to things, they seem clearer. The child is getting away with "playing around" with the mother, being allowed to call the shots. The mother seems a bit distressed. But she knows her child. At the end, it is the play-weary child who reaches for her and the comfort she can give. He releases that control back to her as protector. Then, there is just the fun of playing with words and ideas. That's why I love art, it can be interpreted and enjoyed in so many ways.
Next time I have a little walk down Memory Lane for the Boomers. Till then, get outside if you can and look down. God can be found there, too. Nancy