The oldest like the earth, solid and rooted. Holding the trees and the soil down tight, keeping things in their place when the wind and rain bear down hard. The middle fairy child collected life, picked every flower and noted every butterfly and named a snail Slimy. The youngest showed me the moon and the sun in the same sky and told me both belonged to him and he could not would not share.

And the Momma, with her arms so wide and calm and warm. Followed her babies up one side of the hill, and down the other, over and over again.

You are a gift, don’t ever forget from where you come.