Montessori spiders

I’m a daddy long legs,
But my feet are the size of pegs.
I’d like to eat a wasp or bee,
Because that is so plainly me.I would like to get a docket,
And fly up to space in a rocket.
I’d fly away to the stars,
Then to the moon and Mars.
That’s what I’d like to really do,
But if you measure me in millimetres I’m only one by two.
Even if I were taller I couldn’t do that,
I’d probably get eaten by a space cat.
To fly to space would be my dream,
But some dreams are not what they seem.
So I guess I’ll have to stay on earth,
Where I’ve been since my birth.

By Cassie

A Spider sewed at Night
Without a Light
Upon an Arc of White

If Ruff it was of Dame
Or Shroud of Gnome
Himself himself inform.

Of Immortality
His Strategy
Was Physiognomy.

Emily Dickinson

Windmills of your mind

Round like a circle in a spiral, like a wheel within a wheel
Never ending or beginning on an ever spinning reel
Like a snowball down a mountain, or a carnival balloon
Like a carousel that's turning running rings around the moon
Like a clock whose hands are sweeping past the minutes of its face
And the world is like an apple whirling silently in space
Like the circles that you find in the windmills of your mind!

Like a tunnel that you follow to a tunnel of its own
Down a hollow to a cavern where the sun has never shone
Like a door that keeps revolving in a half forgotten dream
Or the ripples from a pebble someone tosses in a stream
Like a clock whose hands are sweeping past the minutes of its face
And the world is like an apple whirling silently in space
Like the circles that you find in the windmills of your mind!

Keys that jingle in your pocket, words that jangle in your head
When did summer go so quickly? Was it something that you said?
Lovers walking along a shore and leave their footprints in the sand
Is the sound of distant drumming just the fingers of your hand?
Pictures hanging in a hallway and the fragment of a song
Half remembered names and faces, but to whom do they belong?
When you knew that it was over you were suddenly aware
That the autumn leaves were turning to the color of her hair!
Like a circle in a spiral, like a wheel within a wheel
Never ending or beginning on an ever spinning reel
As the images unwind, like the circles that you find in 
The windmills of your mind!

Keys that jingle in your pocket, words that jangle in your head
When did summer go so quickly? Was it something that you said?
Lovers walking along a shore and leave their footprints in the sand
Is the sound of distant drumming just the fingers of your hand?
Pictures hanging in a hallway and the fragment of a song
Half remembered names and faces, but to whom do they belong?
When you knew that it was over in the autumn of good-byes
For a moment you could not recall the color of his eyes!
Like a circle in a spiral, like a wheel within a wheel
Never ending or beginning on an ever spinning reel
As the images unwind, like the circles that you find in 
The windmills of your mind!

Kleinmond se wilde perde

Magic

I was driving back from a quick visit to friends I haven't seen for a long time at around 5 pm today, when I passed these trees. It was one of those moments where you see something that holds such a lot (in this case a place) and you only realize what you saw when you have passed it.
The moment clung to my wake and overtook me, and I made a U-turn and immediately felt the excitement of the lone explorer. Vincent was sleeping in the back - so I was truly alone and in a magical place. It was a rare enjoyment. 

I will go back some day and find the poetry that goes with it. For now it is enough to know that it is there.

1 John 5:6

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=MFSm5_4afro

And darkness came upon the face of the earth

the curtain tore

from the holy divine

to the very heart of human

water and blood

surely this must be the Son of God

the Spirit hovers like a dove

Christ from the beginning
From the beginning

Christ

About a boy

A friend asked me recently what I like most about being a mother. I wished I could answer him with a poem, as he does me when I ask him complex questions.
But I am not so good with poems.
Yet.
And I might never be. That is ok too.

I loved the thought of being a mother, long before I even knew I loved it. Women are made to be moms. I knew no other reality.
I didn't know then how much I would love the reality of being a mom, nor how hard it would be.

It is a paradox, a constant tension. But love overcomes in the end. Love reigns supreme.

I love getting to be a part of molding a life. A pot that grows more beautiful as the wheel turns. And sometimes I miss a few turns because I was distracted by someone at the door, and when I look back, the pot is even more beautiful than I ever planned or imagined it.
Unlike a pot, I can't start over if I don't like the outcome. But I can, with infinite patience and care, straighten out the creases and push out the air bubbles.
And thank God people, even little ones, understand apologies. Unlike pots who would just... well, give a potlike stare, I guess.
I don't know pots that well.

But I know my son, and he is beautiful. He is more beautiful than any other kid I know, because he is mine. And because I know him better than any other.
And he knows me, sometimes better than I know myself. We are made to know and be known. By someone. Anyone. And what a blessing if we are able.

I love the way he smiles when he is happy. I love that he sings when he is really happy. I love his stubbornness, even though it sometimes drives me nuts. I love how, when I have his eyes, I have his heart. Even though it sometimes takes a while to get his eyes.

I love how he walks into a new place, and wanders around until he knows it, and knows that he is safe, knows where the exits are, knows where the comfortable places are. And if there are cars around, he will find them. Any size car will do.  Then he checks out what I am doing and if it looks like fun. If it is, he usually he joins me for a while, until I get lost in conversation too much. Then he goes and finds his comfortable place and parks there to wait for me.

There is so much more to say, but time and words are not enough.

And this post was supposed to be about motherhood.
But it has turned out to be about a boy.

Arende

Ek het pottebakkery by tannie Ina geneem op laerskool. Nie baie lank nie. My pa wou altyd gehad het ek moet ‘n arend maak vir bo-op die muurtjie in die sitkamer. Ek wou baie graag – ek kon dit sien. Een met uitgespreide vlerke wou ek gehad het. Ek dink hy wou een gehad het wat sit met sy vlerke toegevou.

Vir arende maak uit klei, moet mens baie oefening hê met pottebakkery. Ek kon amper nie eers ‘n pot maak wat nie gewobble het en uitmekaargeval het op die wiel nie. En toe het ek opgehou met klasse. Die arend het nooit gebeur nie.

Nou het ons ‘n seuntjie. Vincent “oorwinnaar” Arend. Hy het die potensiaal om sy vlerke wyer te sprei as wat ek ooit het. As ons hom toelaat om self sy vlerke oop te maak, en hulle nie te probeer oopdwing nie. En as ons dan die wind onder sy vlerke is – hom aanmoedig om op te staan en nie op te hou as hy val nie.  As ons naby genoeg aan hom staan (terwyl ons nog kan) om te keer dat hy nie te hard val nie, maar nie so naby dat ons hom uit reaksie vang as hy net sy knie gaan skraap nie. Want seuntjies moet geskraapte knieë hê so nou en dan.  

Om die balans kan vind tussen hom los om op sy eie elke miershoop en grasspriet in die berg te ondersoek, maar nog steeds by te hou by sy ouers wat by die huis wil kom voor die son sak omdat daar geëet en gebad en geslaap moet word, is moeilik. Dit vat kreatiwiteit en ‘n sin vir humor. Streng wees, maar ook redelik wees. Die lyne is so fyn.

Ons het nou baie meer begip vir wat ons ouers met ons deurgemaak het. Aan die een kant so moeilik, maar aan die anderkant ‘n herontdekking van onsself, en hoe om dieselfde grasie met onsself te hê.

Dit vat ‘n tydjie, sjoe. Daar is so baie faktore wat gejuggle moet word, huishouding, werk, Vincent, vriendskappe, kerk, 3-2-1 projekte (hier loop die gene sterk aan altwee kante, ons sal seker nie daarvanaf kan wegkom nie!) Gelukkig vir twee stelle oupa’s en ouma’s wat naby genoeg is om te vang wanneer daar gevang moet word – ons is dankbaar vir hulle en dankbaar vir die Here.

Mag Hy ons almal leer hoe om in elke situasie ons vlerke te sprei en te vlieg, en nie af te kyk na hoe ver die grond is nie.