The colour of a mother

When I walked the path of the maiden, I was blush and innocence. The peak of dawn softly floating like a melody on the breeze.

When I was bestowed my starling in my womb, I was silver and dew. The beaming glow of first light cascading through the trees.

When I traversed the raging seas of the cosmos, I was obsidian and strength. The magic of midnight birthing new life.

When I settled in the days to come, I was dove blue and effete. The drifting cloud on a melancholy day to tune of the forlorn fife.

When I found my mother in the mirror, I was opal and hardened. The sheltering tree providing shelter, nurture and abundance.

When I witness the crone, the grandmother, the giver - I see a spectrum of light, shattering the realms of colour and chance.

For what colour is a mother, only she will know.