I sit, where I would escape to as a child.
The breeze is an old friend that caresses me as it blows by.
Although, surely, the birds are new, they sing the same familiar song.
The insects, have a cadence that bring a heart home.
A farm, a home, stands-that has firmly served for generations.
Trees, that have stood against the strongest storms.
Who is the child that sat here?
What were you contemplating child?
Did you know that like the wind, you would caress your own child in a time of need?
Like the birds, sing to them an ancient song of the heart?
Like the insects, a cadence that grounds them and brings them home?
Like the farm, the home, that passes knowledge and love to their generations?
Like the trees, casting deep roots, standing tall and firm for them in the storms?
I didn’t tell you then how wonderful you are.
How your heart would travel so far,
To the woman who sits afar.

-Meaghan Katelyn