The love of my mother.

I pulled on the weed and roots flailed out shaking the smell of damp soil into the air. It reminded me of the soil my tender feet had trodden on all those years ago. The green landscape of England seared itself into my mind, reawakening memories of the heart. I tossed the unearthed plant into the bucket and thought of my mum, her back bent over faithfully tending all that is good and pulling up the smothering stems. She does that with my heart all the time. She speaks life and courage into the seeds of virtue because she sees what others don't see.
I have found her love to be the steadying trellis for my wind whipped soul. She is a place to secure my broken branches. 
The ocean that divides is big, my arms don't stretch that far but my heart does. Miles don't ever really separate.


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