I woke in the bosom of Fall.
The greenness of youth transformed.
My oldest precious daughter is Baby Sister Girl. She came to me in the Spring, like the first tender blossom, stretching her tiny face toward the warm sun, full of wonder and eager to meet every challenge put before her. She is strong, she is confident, she is a go getter. She knows what she wants out of life and she will stop at nothing to get it. You always know where you stand with her, she pulls no punches. I have made my share of mistakes in tending to this flower, but in spite of my shortcomings, she has thrived. Her roots are strong, her core is solid. In a field of flowers, she’s the one your eye is drawn to. She is my pride and joy.
My youngest is Cake. She is another Springtime girl and like her mother, she is an old soul. Cake is the Ghost Orchid, a precious and rare flower. She is one of a kind, she is unique. She marches to the beat of a different drum. She is excentric and hilarious, delicious and irresistible. Cake is a bohemian, a gypsy, an artist. Cake does not conform, she does things on own her terms. She is tender, compassionate, loving and kind. She is the most optimistic person I know. Evil does not exist in her world. She teaches me something new every day.
I am Sister, the mother, the teacher, the gardener entrusted to the care of these Springtime Girls. My harvest is rich, my basket is full.