Bobbie Sue

She was born in Paris, winter child of the Ozarks, firstborn of Carl and Trilby.
Raven hair and amber eyes, dark as the deep shadow of the piney woods;
Child of the unopened door.
What omens opened her heart there?
She was water cress in rushing stream and green musk melon, red squirrel with bushy tail
escaping long rifles in tall trees.
Gap-tooth barring smiles she smiled with her eyes instead, twinkle on a moonless night.
I remember her laughter, deep and throaty.
And her tears, falling into sudsy water.
Life dealt her bitterness, and she almost gave it up.
Pain, but she persevered.
Rescued by angels she was born again and died in triumph o’er the grave.
Heroine of mine, muse of my soul, she watches from the Other Side and is remembered well.
Happy birthday, Mom!

"Girl with Feather"
22" x 24"
Oil on Canvas