Mother Knows Best

"It's chilly out, make sure you bring a sweater," she says

as I make my way out the door.

 "I will, Mother," I say

 But I know I can handle it

 And I purposely walk past the closet.

Walking through Mother's garden

 I stop to pick a fresh blackberry

 "Be careful of the thorns,

 I don't want you to get hurt."

 "I am careful," I say.

 But unfortunately I am not 

and I accidentally brush my thumb

 against a thorn.

 I try my best to hide my cut

 Even though Mother is already watching

 She's always watching.

I put my hands in my pockets

 And I keep walking

 A cool breeze sends goosebumps

 across my exposed skin

 Then I hear her scolding voice say

 "Darling, where's your sweater?"

 Ashamed, I look to the ground and whisper,

"I didn't bring one."

 "I know you didn’t, honey. Come over

and let me see your thumb as well."

 I sit by the stream

 Where I feel Mother Nature's

 Disappointment

 "Put your hand in the water, my child.

 And I will clean your wound."

 I stir my hands in the water,

 The stinging pain on my thumb

 Now gone.

 “Thank you, Mother," I smile.

I feel the wind's caress on my cheek and I know it's her.

 Even though I cannot see her

 I know she is everywhere.

 Always scolding

 With hidden

 I-told-you-so's

 Because of course

 Mothers know best.