The Way of It

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The mind, my mind, is a labyrinth. Down one path and over to the next and into concentric circles. Pretty soon my soul is dizzy. Wind gusts outside as the morning comes on. I hear a hen down below the wooden deck. The black and the orange hens refuse to stay in their safe run. Listening to her, the house, quiet, I'm back to remembering last night. Last night: I looked over some kitchen towels that were for sale in an upscale shop. The botanical prints so bright; hubby and I just finished with a slow, easy supper eaten in a small bistro. I mentioned that the prints reminded me of a certain sister and saying that, my mind brought up Mom. The old days Mom. The Mom before the dementia set in. Hubby then mentioned the year he'd met Mom and that led to all the mountain hikes that we'd walked with her. So: hens remind me of daughter and towels of sister then on into the conversation Mom. Its past time I climbed out of my cozy robe and headed into the outdoors. Perhaps the gusting wind will shake loose these buzzy memories.