In Progress Narrative exercise only

she looks over to her dresser 

her mother's mirror returns her look quick smile

she senses her mother's smile warm touch

generous against her pale freckled skin

she loves her morning sun more so now

on her sunny porch her flowers stir when 

they feel her slippered feet stopping at the squeaking hinge

rattle and slap of her screen door

a soft breath of rain greets gentles them

her eyes blossom rainbow as they always do 

she clears her throat as if to sing 

pours her irish whiskey tea 

adds some honey touch of ginger she is fortified 

delighted to just sit 

out of the blue she exclaims that 

most of the streets around here are named after trees 

she guesses the trees were here before people and

just named the streets after themselves 

she nods in agreement

from a flock of modest clouds 

gangs of robins raucously fly into her small holly tree 

the autumn berries so brightening so ripely red 

become winter berries 

she dreamily sips at her cooling tea

the dew irish green grass young clover 

spread easily in an accidental breeze

fox leave their den 

spend their morning dancing together

a mother's love and holding hand 

watch fox dance

as only fox

can