Mother.

As the day comes to a close, I watch the clouds settle in over the mountains and I can’t help but think how everything about them speaks Mother:

Soft, pink, and all-encompassing. Able to drape her soft body around even the mightiest masterpieces until all is shrouded in the delicate mist of her touch. She is both a hurricane and a whisper, the fiercest and gentlest of forms. She will tuck in the night and rise with the morning. We probably won’t even notice her still there in the sky.

But maybe we will. The maybe is enough for her. For it she will show up again and again and again and again, new each morning.

Happy Mother’s Day.