Happy 80th, Mum

While the wind is whipping the gum leaves from the wood

And the tea leaves are being blown from your mug

The dark, cranky skies are at their limit and can not hold the rain

and frenetic picnickers are gathering their kids, dogs, eskies, and footies,

hurling them into the dryness of the car

This little lady smiles as she wipes away the circling mozzies, not to hurt but to shoo.

Her sharp eyes that never miss a trick still throw a cheeky glint through her stylish specs.

Her plum-coloured scarf frames her soft, lined face that shows the years

With immense pride

Underneath those grey curls and waves sits the mind of a queen, a prime minister, a heroine.

She points with her clever, busy and now aching fingers towards a shy creature

that doesn’t wow the world with colour, glitz, or charisma

But mesmerises by its tiny, delicate, brown frame mimicking the rough bark.

She explains to her Grandkids who this perfect little lizard is moving towards:

A little girl further up the trunk whose tiny pink tongue flashes from left to right, finding her way.

Her delicate ‘fingernails’ grip like velcro and her inquisitive little eyes are cutely cupped by white, fluttering eyelids.

The kids are delighted, we adults more so, as we share the awe and gratitude that comes from seeing beauty when it is neither the time nor place.

To this woman, a loose thread says “sew a masterpiece”. A mistake in the kitchen creates a new recipe. A cold evening alone is the perfect time to sit by the crackling fire and count one’s blessings.

She doesn’t look up at the peak of the outcrop and cry in defeat as she hobbles over the red, rocky ground, dripping in sweat. She instead looks behind her, sees achievement, and puts one boot in front of the other.

To her the desert is not a place of exile, nor inhospitable or unkind.

Instead, it gives her days of contemplation, moments of sheer wonder

It’s a vast, floriated casino that can change her fortune;

a nursery for delicate, purple nameless natives that spring up miraculously after the first drop of rain;

a playground for furry little Aussie beasts who burrow and hide,

allowing you the occasional sighting yet not overstaying their welcome.

How can this remoteness, these parched creek beds, these prickly piles of spinifex

be home to such exquisite feathered friends, she wonders.

For within the darkness of those dense needles that poke and prick us away

Are surely some of God’s most marvellous creations. She knows it.

She knows, she just has to look, and listen, and be still.

Just as she sees light in the dark,

She sees the pain behind a smile

She hears cries for help through overwhelming noise.

She opens her purse, stretches her arms, shows them the way out.

Don’t make a fuss, she doesn’t want the rewards we offer. She will accept His, thanks,

when it’s time.

This little lady has charmed the most menacing parking inspector.

She makes you giggle unexpectedly and laugh uncontrollably.

She comes out with things that make you shake your head and question her sanity.

If it’s broken she’ll fixes it. If it’s difficult she overcomes it. If it is out of reach she figures she doesn’t need it.

This woman carries on, with humour, with Faith, with pure friendship

Which has always surrounded her. The best kind. The forgiving kind. The appreciating kind.

They never leave her, they are part of her.

Because of knowing when to let go of her children she has allowed them to grow. She has given them strength to weather their storms, to seek out their treasures, to find beauty in every moment.

To be all growed up yet still wanting to jump in puddles.

Thank you, Mum.