Down to the Bone

Last week-end was a whirlwind of activity, culminating in the "playground crawl" on Columbus day. Roving Reporter and I write a new column entitled "Moms about town" featured on http://www.shrewsbury.patch.com/ (look for us there, please ). She had the brilliant idea to check out some lesser known playgrounds in town and feature them in a couple of articles. Oh what to write about?

I tell you what we opted not to write about: the bone my daughter found in the woods behind one of the swingsets. CSI meets small town America. I am not saying the bone is human, but it ain't small. The thing is, at every playground, it wasn't the swings or the shiny new slides that held the interest of our children; it was the large pine tree, the fence surrounding the tennis court, the hiking trail, and, yes, the bone. It was also getting together with friends, joining the action as community members reporting on their playgrounds, and rating the experiences.

My daughter carried around her talisman on a stick for about 20 minutes. Then, with some reluctance, she handed it back to me to return to the wilds. It reminds me of a beautiful poem her grandmother wrote which I reprint here without permission:

Pagan Death

Supposed death, as well as love,
calls me to this earth.

Still- I live in finite
heart memories, as
emphemeral as moth dust.

While aspen leaf and rose vein,
infinitely circling
Reflect the light of ten thousand
corporeal souls-

At last
At last
One with beauty

Karen Jordan