There's 25 years difference between them, but they are good friends. Often after getting home from work the younger woman will get a telephone call.

"What are you doing?" The voice soft, inquisitive.

"I'm just finishing up chores." The younger woman said.

"Do you want to go for a walk?"  

She looked out the dining room window. The sun, low in the west, would set in a little over an hour. The heat from the day had moved south with the evening breeze and it was good walking weather.

"That would be nice." She replied.

"I'll be over in a bit."

"Okay. I'll see you then." She went to the front door and made sure it was unlocked then finished up what she'd been doing. Her mother could walk in when she got there. But first she'd look around the front yard. Inspect the roses. Look to see how the other flowers and plants were doing.

Her own yard a gardener's paradise, her mother always took pleasure in walking beside any garden. Being surrounded by the shrubs, trees, and flowers that a person could give life to in the soil of their own property was her mother's addiction.

And, because she was who she was, she could hardly resist telling her daughter if she felt something needed tending, pruning, or watering. Her daughter expected no less. There was an old TV commercial and a line from it was: Mothers are like that. Yeah, they are!... It was a perfect line! For the daughter it was a comfortable mantra.

She looked through the living room window and watched the red van pull up in front of the house. As she changed into her walking shoes she saw her mother circle round the van, her eyes on the garden running alongside the driveway. Her mother's short gray hair framed her handsome face. In her 70's now she was in good shape from yard work and house work. She had always been "a looker" and age had done nothing to change her natural beauty.

Her mother walked in and the daughter greeted her. "Are you ready?"

The older woman nodded, yes. But she continued past the daughter, looking around. She proceeded to the French door at the back of the house. She smiled as the dogs wriggled and wagged and barked on the other side of the glass, happy to see "Grandma."

Still grinning, her eyes sought out the backyard gardens, especially the roses.

She shook her head. "Your roses always look so nice." She turned a wry expression to her daughter.

Unlike her mother, the daughter spent very little time tending the roses. The daughter shrugged, rolled her eyes upward... What to say?

"Hmmph!" Her mother laid her hand on her daughter's shoulder. "Let's go!"

Conversation while walking floated from topic to topic: A comment about a neighbor's yard,  how the day at work went, how the day at home had gone, updates on out-of-town relatives,  current events in the news. Family plans for a picnic, camping trip,

or party. Just walking together, quietly, was fine, too. If they got lucky, they'd watch the moon rise over the mountains, or coral skies catch fire with the setting sun.

Now and then they'd grasp hands, give one another a hug. Tell the other: "I love you! Thank you for the walk."

After the sun set, and mother and daughter were back in their own homes one might call the other. Repeat the words... "I love you! Thank you for the walk."

But behind those simple words there is so much more unsaid. At least from the daughter... Sentiments and thoughts she can't tell her mother. "Life is so short, Mother. I can't bear the thought of not having you in my world. What would that be like? Just thinking about it is painful and though I want to share this fear with you, I can't. Instead, I will savor our time together knowing I am blessed to have shared these past 50 years with you. And I hope you will understand how full those few

words I tell you are--brimming with love of you and thankfulness for the awareness that every moment with you is a godsend."

"I love you, Mother! Thank you for the walk."

***
For my mother, Mescal Lavera Harris.

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I am an author and four of my books have been published. They are available at Amazon.com, Borders.com, Xlibris.com, and other online dealers. You can also order them from your local bookstore. I also write poetry. I'm not really restricted to any genre when writing which opens up a world of creative subjects for me to write about.

I enjoy the freedom this gives me as I have a very vivid imagination and I love

to observe the world around me. It is a great stage from which to draw inspiration. I am a social worker by day, a writer by life. I live in CA.

?© 2003 by Kathy Anne Harris

 http://mistdrifter.tripod.com/ToShareWithYou.html