Risk by Anais Nin

   

                                        And then the day came,
                                        when the risk
                                        to remain tight
                                        in a bud
                                        was more painful
                                        than the risk
                                        it took
                                        to Blossom.

My latest digital work, Soul Mate

Remembering my mother.

  Your mother is always with you . . . She's the whisper of the leaves as you walk down the street. She's the smell of bleach in your freshly laundered socks. She's the cool hand on your brow when you're not well. Your mother lives inside your laughter. She's crystallized in every teardrop. She's the place you came from, your first home. She's the map you follow with every step that you take. She's your first love and your first heartbreak, and nothing on earth can separate you. Not time, not space . . . not even death will ever separate you from your mother. You carry her inside of you. 

                          Marion Rector Kavaney
               b. March 2, 1926
               d. May 5, 1980 - thinking of you mom.
      Happy Mother's Day mom! A week early, just as on the day you died.