Sssshhh! Have you heard it?

I did. Last week. On an evening walk.

Our Mother is preparing for sleep. 

The chorus of crickets—the last hold outs–sang a lullabye,

one last repeat performance from summer.

The Maples outside my patio, shocked by the coming winter’s chill,

dressed for season’s end:

Orange, pale green and a hint of yellow.

A Hoot owl called out in the distance.

She’s going to sleep, our Mother.

And then there's us, her unruly children. Refusing to sleep, hard-wired on synthetic steroids of busyness.

Mother knows her body. She knows to listen.

My own tells me: Munch oranges. Spinach. Potatoes.

I, too, have my Mother’s wisdom.

She whispers.

I can hear her.

When I listen.

Sssshhhh….