A poem for my grandchildren:
This morning from my window I saw tracks in the snow.
“Look!” I said to Momma, “Can we see where they go?”
“It’s cold outside!” she answered, “Are you sure you want to do that?”
“Oh, I do!” I said to Momma, “I’ll go get my coat and hat!”
So, I ran to the closet where we keep our winter clothes.
I pulled out boots and mittens plus a scarf to shield my nose.
With Momma bundled up like me, we stepped outside together.
So warmly we had dressed ourselves we didn’t mind the weather.
Tracks led us to the river, then up the rocky ridge,
through the brush and bramble and over the narrow bridge.
We heard a sound then turned to see a fawn and graceful doe
huddled close together under branches hanging low.
The baby deer lay on the ground curled up fast asleep
on a simple bed of crusty leaves where the snow was not as deep.
The doe leaped to attention watching every move we made,
but we were nice and quiet, so she wouldn’t be afraid.
I looked into her big brown eyes and softly said “Hello!”
“So, you’re the ones who left behind the tracks in the snow.”
As Momma took me by the hand, we slowly backed away
from the handsome gentle creatures who had surely made my day.
Across the bridge and through the brush, then up to the plateau,
we paused for just a moment to enjoy the view below.
So brightly the sun glistened that each snowflake was a jewel,
just like glitter on a picture that I had made at school.
Back home I shed my coat and hat. Somewhere I’d lost a mitten.
“Hot chocolate?” Momma asked me as she headed for the kitchen.
“Thanks”, I said to Momma when she handed me a cup.
It tasted great, but really, it’s her smile that warmed me up!
I sat down by the window just as I had done that morning
with thoughts of all we’d seen and done while we were out exploring.
I gazed down to the path where we had been not long ago.
“Look!” I said to Momma, “we made tracks in the snow!”
Always find joy in the little things, my dears!
with love,
Grammy
Nancy Merrill Post a Day: The Things That Matter Most
Every Tuesday at 5:00pm, there is a trail of toys in my house that stretches from the front door all the way to the bedroom where my grandson sleeps when we keep him two days a week. I pick up each toy, one by one, and think of the fun (or the frustration) he had before it was abandoned there on the floor. As I pick up the ball, I remember the mischievous smile he had when he threw it in the house after I told him not too. I remember the tears that fell when I took the ball away and how quickly the smile returned when I gave it back to him 10 minutes later! I make my way to his room with an armload of toys, but he’s not there. Every Thursday at 9:00am, he’s back. There is no trail of toys to follow, but he knows the way to his room. Play commences and toys yet again follow him wherever he goes. After he leaves at 5:00pm, there is a trail of toys from his room all the way to the front door. I pick them up, put them away, but he’s not there. Now here’s the controversy: Sometimes my husband will say “We should make him pick up his toys before he leaves” and I’ll say “but where’s the fun in that!”
