A little orange kitten bounding through the snow to Liz and me,
walking Cedar Loop
I picked it up, fingers on its belly, damp from snowflakes,
released it back at its driveway, voicing quivering mews.

And pitbull puppies at the Flour Mill when I went to pick up hay yesterday,
tiny and fast asleep. I pet them gently for a long time.

At the Vineyard today, 3-year-old Naomi let me hold her,
play with her hair until she whispered she was sleepy and laid down beside me smiling.

I don't know what it is about baby things, the way my insides feel all soft around them
(and I'm not saying this is necessarily a "Feminine" thing),
but one day I hope to stand in that grove of matriarchs,
to join the shining women who have been the glue of my life.