It's a blustery morning. Snow flurries flitter between the branches of the spruce trees, and gray skies obscure the view out my window. Gusts of wind send sheets of snow off the roof. I imagine the snow is a troupe of dancing fairies setting off on an adventure. Farewell fairies, safe travels and all that.
I just got off the phone with my mother. She seems well however Texas this time of year, and under the current circumstances, is a bit lonely. There is no one nearby that she is related to, no friends close by to speak of, and her life in the small aging RV seems to be wearing her thin. She travels around a fifty mile radius, staying a few nights at a time in each of the state campgrounds that surround the local lakes. The park rangers know her by name, and are grateful that she fills her days walking the parks picking up trash, and cutting back the kudzu. She's bored. She's lost. She sounds unsure of what to do next, where to go, where to call home.
I worry about her well being. What daughter wouldn't? The crux of the situation is she doesn't want any help from me, from any of us. Is it an overactive sense of pride or stubbornness?
Recently I came across her paternal families coat of arms, a beautiful crest of gray and red, and perched on top, a goat. A horned and undoubtedly stubborn goat.
My brain is filled with the words exchanged during our conversation, and my heart is heavy with worry. Perhaps a walk in the crisp snowy air will settle my thoughts.
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