Creation
I watch.
You, scrutinise your fingers
insects stretching, bending.
You mould reluctant clay
caress, cajole
work feverish for perfection.
Staccato, a squeal of joy
you make magic, without a wand.
Insects fidget, scuttle by
plunge in pots and palettes
mix myriad hues, swirl rainbows.
I see fingers and your future.
“My patience, resolutions and beliefs are tested to the limits – sometimes daily.”*
Right at this moment one of my challenges is the constant, tuneless whistling from my elder son. When my boys were babies it was getting them to sleep or trying to figure out why they were crying. On any given day now, it might be squabbling, fighting, teasing, screaming, shouting or rudeness. Who’d be a parent? We might well question ourselves after the event, but we can’t very well put them back! Just how we find those inner resources, how we constantly demand more of ourselves, how we keep marching up that hill with a smile on our face and gladness in our heart at the sight of our ‘babies’ is one of life’s mysteries.
* © from Being Mummy by Anne‑marie Taplin published April 2007