Whenever I fall prey to the stress that adult life sends my way, I head to a place in my backyard... A Place where a special chair sits by my sacred garden.
I am not quite sure when this old, distressed piece of furniture came into my life, but I do remember the feeling of excitement. "Just for me?" I asked my mother. Her reply: "Of course."
Though the seasons change, my little special chair does not. It survivies rain, heavy winds, and rays of sunshine; it stands faithful and often hints of Pride, knowing that no matter what my mood, it is there to preserve my childhood memories. During the exuberant early days of autumn, as a child, I used to sit with excitement near our tiny pumpkin patch, wondering which great pumpkin was coming.
My chair is the bridge to my past,-- an extention to days of innocence - when life was simple and the hug of my Mother was more than enough.
As my Grandmother May sat near me in her own chair, reading a book, the strength of womanhood was instilled in me for life.
Weeks will sometimes pass before I sneak in a memory or two; but when it gets to the point where I need to deeply exhale, then inhale and refill my soul, I sneak to my backyard chair and rekindle the thoughts of yesterday, where a little girl sat with the marvelous world all around her.