Mothers Day

My Mother
by Ann Taylor (1782-1866)

Who fed me from her gentle breast,
And hush'd me in her arms to rest,
And on my cheek sweet kisses prest?
My Mother.

When sleep forsook my open eye,
Who was it sung sweet hushaby,
And rock'd me that I should not cry?
My Mother.

Who ran to help me when I fell
And would some pretty story tell,
Or kiss the place to make it well?
My Mother.

And can I ever cease to be
Affectionate and kind to thee,
Who wast so very kind to me,
My Mother.
From Festivals and Fairs, The Illustrated Fairy Gazette



Where are the fairy places?

I had heard that along one of our main roads and up a certain drive there is a path that leads to trillium woods.
So on this Mother's Day we went looking....









and there they were...








Lovely starry trilliums in a fairy dell,






more and more of them, a vision of beauty.





Eventually we turned back to the not-so distant sound of traffic, then across the road and down to the lake,


where mothers and children paddled together beside still waters, on Mothers Day.


"Nature - the gentlest mother is,
Impatient of no child -" Emily Dickenson