Mrs Theresa Mary Guitard Bujold

They are the fresh gentle breeze of Springtime,

Warm and caressing, brushing against our soft baby skin

They keep us aloft, push inconspicuously behind us and keep us from

Falling.

They are the gusts hat twirl and keep us aware that we must stand

On our own when we think we might topple.

Mothers warn us that when we let go of balloons, we do not get

Another that is exactly the same.

Or we do not get another, at all.

They are the freshness that breathes through a screen

On a warm summer night, when the night is too dark.

Mothers keep butterflies aloft and blow away the dust

That might get in our eyes.

They are always there and fly kites to the heights of blueness.

They tell us we can dream and reach those heights.

They teach us the caress and comfort that comes before the gale.

And when they become the gale, the storm, the strong wind,

It awakens us from our complacency.

Inevitably, the storm ebbs.

And they let us reflect on who we are and where we are going.

Then they return, kiss and blow gently across our foreheads.

Even though we are older.

We feel young again.

And now we have, through the breezes, the gentle uplifting, the swirling

winds and gales, taken up new kites.

We fly them high, to the limits of the blueness, with our own children

as we too, have now become…like our mothers.