The breeze sweeps across the agate chime that spirals down.
Each earthly banded slice with variations of brown and amber
have been sliced from a mother stone.
The wooden crown has seven holes where seven strands
of fishing line hang down, ending with one agate section.
This chime was a gift from my mother to me.
She brought it back from one of her far off travels.
Her travels ended with her death.
Now a distant memory.
Today on this Mother's Day the sun shining
through each translucent section, and
the sound of the striking agate stone brings
My mother briefly back to me.
I hope she rests in peace.
Though from knowing her, it is more likely
that she is still on the move.
movingforwardslowly 