mother mountain

she's around 55. probably closer to 60. deep skin colored like a deer’s hide, with splotches of blush on her nose, cheeks, and forehead. too much sun in her youth has given her 'happy lines' that trail from ear to ear. if you didn’t look close enough you would miss the dirt speckles underneath her sunken green eyes. these dirt speckles mix into her thick strands of hair that whisp over her ears and forehead. her mane is painted grey here, dark brown there. a combination everywhere else and matted none the less. she pins it back with a few bronze bobby pins that shine in the light when she waters the ferns, azaleas, heaths, and lilies that endlessly grow from the front to the back porch. it's a jungle that just so happened to swallow a house whole.
she moves well for a middle aged woman. hands with a firm grip but a soft touch. she gracefully dashes from plant to plant, giving each its own undivided attention; they do deserve their 'special time' with Mother. when Mother moves its like a form of dance, pointed toes as she reaches over the railing, hands fluttering above, searching for fingertips of the clouds.
age has come well for Mother. she went to a university in the south, studied the arts and went on road trips with groups of other nature-loving people like herself. she once traveled across the Middle East and Asia, where she discovered the greed of the white and the heart of the yellow. her perspective had been changed and she fully learned the meaning of a dollar, how to bear the bitter cold of the night, and how giving the world can be.
one might wonder, "Does Mother have a family? A husband? Anything?"
but Mother doesn't worry about the labels of society and what is deemed acceptable by American standards. Mother learned of the women of Bali, who need no mans say in what they do. instead, the Bali women make the decisions, do the finances, and fix the marriages. That’s if they even want to be married.
although Mother would have, indeed, been a good Mother, she has no fruit of her own. after college and her years of travel, she settled into the place that you see now. a single story mountain house painted dark green, with black, tattered shutters, and sturdy, carved wooden door, and a large front porch.
in truth, Mother has everything. the air that gives her breath, her lungs that help process the air, her eyes that see all that can be seen, a heart that sees what her eyes can not, and the happiness of a woman who has been from one end of the world to the other. not many people can say the same about their own structured lives. the fast paced city life was no place for Mother. the suits, ties, and tan panty hose was no attire for a trail blazing woman like Mother. the bitter, boring role of a house wife was no life for a driven, adventurous woman like Mother. the everyday morning coffee, cream cheesed bagel, 9 A.M. clock in, 8 hour work day, stuck in a cubicle endlessly typing away about taxes, bills, and credit would have never fit a woman like Mother. she belonged in the wild among those who accepted her for her curves, her slightly turned smile, her boyish laugh, sly remarks, and unkempt ways. Mother was exactly who she wanted to be.

and all she had to do was choose happiness.