For my Mom

 I often remember walking some land with my Mom in the mountains of Western North Carolina. The land was for sale and we were walking to the house site. I think I was 7 or 8.  She spotted a lady's slipper on the forest floor and knelt down to lift some leaves around it so I could behold the treasure she had found.  I do not remember what the lady's slipper looked like. I'm not sure I could point one out to you today.

I do remember the sunlight streaming through the trees and the feel of my hand in hers. I remember her reddish brown hair as I stood above her. I can see her smile as I squatted beside her and turned to look at her face. I remember how it felt to have my mother all to myself and have her share something with me. Just me.
    
Don't get me wrong. I was never neglected or forgotten.  As one of 8 children (and a twin to boot) I rarely had time alone with my Mom. She was my biggest fan and my kindest critic. I thought well into adulthood that I was my mother's favorite and only gave that notion up when I realized she loved each of us enough to make us all feel that way. I wonder if she had asked us all to go and I'm the one that said yes? Did she know that I was the one that would enjoy it the most? I wonder what she would remember about that day?
   
My mother and I have shared many awe-inspiring sights. One of my earliest memories is being wakened in the middle of the night when we lived in Juneau, Alaska to stand in the yard and watch the Northern Lights. She and I have stood together at the base of the Delicate Arch in Moab, Utah, and at Mesa Verde, Colorado. We have stood in silence at countless sunsets over the Great Smoky Mountains here in our own back yard.
    

Yet, I hold a sacred place in my heart for those few stolen moments with my Mom when she knelt on the forest floor to show me a wildflower. That memory comes to me often. When I see something precious or beautiful. When my daughter reaches up to hold my hand. When I think about or talk about or write about moments that glitter, I think of my Mom. I love you Margie.

Open your hearts and your minds ~ Carmen