This afternoon, as I walked to class, I watched the ruby leaves falling from the trees and I took a moment to breathe in this bittersweet beauty. I say bittersweet, because every time I notice nature, every time I realize I can name a certain flower, or a lonely stone glitters just right in the sun, or a pine tree sways in the wind, I think of my mama. Interestingly, I haven't used that word in quite some time. I've always reserved that word for when I called out to her, not for when I'm simply referring to her. But I digress; my mama showed me her world. As perhaps mentioned in earlier journal entries here, we would work side by side in the gardens of her clients. The few times we had time enough to do something more relaxing, we would go on local guided hikes. While at the head of the line the guide went on about the wildlife and native species, my mama would whisper to me the names of the plants, flowers, trees, and fungi as we hiked. She also loved to pinch off leaves and offer me the crushed scent, or assure me this certain spindly plant was edible as she munched away. Exactly one year ago, I received the news of my mother's death. Today, it's hard knowing that I won't learn more plant names from her, or sing folk melodies while she harmonizes sweetly with her deep voice, or listen as she describes an innovative idea she has for some community project or about how she has too many projects. I miss her and I don't expect that longing to go away, but I am grateful for what we shared together. I'm trying to see it this way: it's not lost knowledge, but rather, the amazing number of plant names or healing herbs I can recall today; it's not the guitar lessons she won't give me, but the wonderful experiences I had learning chords and techniques from her during my summer visits to Taos; and I am not deprived of her song, because the echoes of her voice still fill my heart when I pull out Rise Up Singing and humm to myself "Goodnight Irene" or "Give Yourself to Love." Mama, thank you for all your gifts. I love you love, Clara June