Seasonal Memories For Nana; She Stays Eternal, Though Rests
Spring, the daisies bloom first, always.
It rains, then floods. Unconditional love to all.
Soaked, I bring her a frog in a box.
She releases the catch when I am not looking
And exclaims, “The frog got away!”
Summer, her garden grows wildly
With zucchini, pumpkins, asparagus…
Her and I take turns mowing the acre of lawn
For Saturday family get togethers.
On those sweltering days, us grandchildren,
Run through the sprinkler, catching bumblebees,
While listening to the adult’s purple laughter.
I can see her grilling on the deck,
Even when everyone was full, forever smiling.
Autumn, we harvest rhubarb and raspberries
From the outskirts of the encapsulating woods.
I climb to pick golden apples, pears, & plums
From her own grown fruit trees.
She is bundled in a worn, woolen sweater
Knitted from her own hands.
At night she makes one for you or me
Rocking away in her fluffy recliner, watching reruns.
Winter, Nana wanders into a blizzard
To spread salt on ice for the family.
Inside with a mug of hot chocolate,
I decorate her home, hanging traditions
That are as old as Nana’s nana.
She sings along to timeless Christmas tapes.