Wednesday, October 03, 2007
Mothers and daughters
I saw them walk away from me, my mother and my daughter. My mother in her slippers with her stick, head bent to listen, best she could, to my girl's burble. My baby girl beside her, pushing a buggy with a pink and brand new dolly along the road outside the cottages. I thought: "Engrave this on my heart: my mother walking, talking with the little mother next to her.". "Shall we go in?" I heard her granny ask her. "No. Walk again." And walk they did. I thought: "When you are all grown and a mother to more than just a doll, when my mother is no more, will something in you recall this autumn morning's promenade?"