and sings “grow, plants, grow” to each seedling she helps place in the ground.
She coddles the young plants with tender hands and sweet words,
just like I used to do with her when she emerged into this world, full of light.
With her, rocks and pine cones and even me and the chickens,
we all become tiny babies in her arms.
And it strikes me how she has been a mother since she started walking on this earth–
my daughter, born with the same fierce love of little ones, the need to nurture, to help things grow that marks mothers the world over.
And I hope that she carries this with her, that she sees that it is a strength, not a weakness,
my daughter, my baby, turning four today.