Shades of Yellow...

Yellow is my childhood days,
growing up at my grandmother's place.
Mama, I used to call her.
She was just like a second mom,
and now I see where my own mother gets her motherly charm.

My grandmother used to dress me in yellow,
as if I was her sunshine.
I wish that I could tell her
that she was mine.

Maybe she already knows,
because I swear I feel her
everytime I see a rainbow
or the sparkling frost on newly fallen snow.

My grandma loved snow.
She warmed even the coldest of winters
by building snow animals out in our front yard.

I think ducks were her favorite,
and they seemed drawn to her too.
Like them, she possessed a deep calm.
It must be her spirit's breath now that stirs ripples in their pond.

My grandma's joy of the simplicities of life
have become mine.
Because of her,
I revel in starry nights
and reading by candlelight.

The gentleness of her voice
was like a bouquet of yellow roses
-delicate, soft, saffron-
with a beauty and freshness that lingers
long after it has gone.

We didn't speak the same language,
yet she understood me more than anyone,
even myself.
Who knew that moments of silence with another
could have such a deep and lasting effect?

We'd sit and eat oranges
-she'd sprinkle sugar on top.
But savoring the taste of mangos
is what I remember the most.
As my grandmother would remove the skin,
my mouth would water;
I'd just want to dig in.
She grinned when the amber juice would trickle down my chin.
Funny, I've never found fruit as sweet as that again.

But I can hear Mama whispering
through that breeze among the trees
that she's still watching over me.
I know her spirit will never leave.

Maybe that's why I giggle when it rains.
I let the drops hit my face,
because I think it's Mama's way of wiping away my pain
(and watching me splash puddles in those canary boots again).
She showers me with a new start,
reminding me that no matter how bad the hurt,
I must always stay true to my own heart.

A giving heart...
Mama showed me what it means to be a beautiful soul.
I hope hers is skipping through endless fields of gold.
And now I see magic in the young and the old
-whether it be a stranger, or the stillness of a room,
'cos Mama taught me to dream under the lemony moon. ©