Home, and the scissors that roam...

I used to get frustrated, when my scissors would go missing. As I would reach for my good kitchen scissors to cut a clipping off of my plant, or to trim the edge off of a fresh apple pie lattice top, or to cut a piece of scrapbook material to craft a beautiful card, I would find them missing. Where are my kitchen scissors!

Whether from my kitchen drawer or the crafting corner, they all have a home for a reason. And especially my kitchen scissors. Don't touch my kitchen scissors!!

And then one day, I sat to write a poem about my hobby, my craft, my passions and projects that bring me joy; about scissors.

And it made me stop and think of exactly where these scissors do go. And the little or big hands that take them there. And the activity those scissors were needed for.

And it brought me on a beautiful journey. A story of an adventure. An adventure that my kitchen scissors take from time to time.

And as I wrote, I came to realize, that they are always right where they belong. In the place last used to create a craft, a clipping, a memory.

In the place that they belong - our home - my craft - my dwelling.

Home, and the scissors that roam...

Scissors that snip and scissors that sew,

planting memories wherever they go.

Where oh where have my scissors gone?

Into the craft bin, or out on the lawn?

On an adventure, some place in my home,

whose little hands have allowed them to roam?

Was it me who last used them to clip up some lunch?

Snipping the parsley into a bunch.

Clipping and chopping, my fresh garden herbs,

into my soup pot for all flavours to merge.

Were the last pair of hands that held onto their grip,

tiny and taken on a little girls trip?

Into her bedroom to snip up a craft.

Something pretty or silly, to make mama laugh.

Were they brought into battle out on the grass,

where a new box of soldiers was cut open at last?

Did another little pair of a boys hands once lay,

upon the handle, taken to play..

Down to the basement where imaginations run wild,

crafting up costumes to fit every child.

Were they left by the freezer, where some naughty boys hands,

pulled out an ice-cream and quickly they ran!

Leaving the scissors left on the floor,

for mama to journey, and find them once more.

Were they left in my houseplants, in the window's warm sun,

where I clip and I trim and I have so much fun?

Or maybe they lay, on my office desk,

where I scrapbook the adventures of all of these quests.

Where I sew and I grow, and I feed and I snip,

and I trim and I sing, and I cut and I clip.

Crafts and creations, family and food,

for this is my dwelling and joy is our mood.

So today, I will breathe, and I'll smile with care,

and remember the story that those lost scissors share.

As they were left, right where they belong,

in a fresh new memory dancing into a song.

A song that will play, forever a tune,

that reminds mama, of the joy in each room.

My craft, my dwelling, my family and home,

forever in search, of the scissors that roam.