If June was a Mother
some prose from me to you
“Sweetheart,” she’d say, “It’s been raining all day! Come sit on the patio with me. I made us some tea.”
You’d both enter barefoot, the ground damp, the neighborhood quiet except for the tapping of raindrops and a bird somewhere close.
“Let’s go collect the mangoes and lemons today.” She’d say, blowing on her steaming tea before taking a cautious sip. She stares out at the backyard. Then she asks How is your heart? What are you praying about? What is the Lord saying back to you?
“What is the Lord saying to you, mom?” You’d ask.
“Oh, many things. But He’s always telling me to love Him.”
“Is that hard?”
“Not anymore,” she’d say with a smile. “He loves me so much. It’s the least I could do.”
She hands you a bag and together your toes squish on the wet lawn. Quietly you pick up mangoes one by one, some off the ground, some from the branches, rainwater splashing you a little as the branch dances from your pull. Your mother starts jumping as high as she can, smacking the tip of a hanging mango just a little too high for her reach. You giggle to yourself, and she catches you. Laughing and threatening to throw a mango your way.
When all the fruit has been picked, you’d both dry off your feet on the mat, place each one in the sink.
Standing next to her, you’d wrap your arms around her shoulders as she begins washing them, your head resting on her sleeve, specks of dirt and grass blades now in a puddle at the bottom of the sink.
“Mom, what’s something you’ve always loved? Something you’ve always been passionate about.”
She leans the side of her head against yours.
“You.”
Katie Donohue Tona
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From the rain to gathering mangoes and lemons, this made me long for simpler days and for summertime—beautiful as always!
This is wonderful thank you!