Forgot your password?

We just sent you an email, containing instructions for how to reset your password.

Sign in

  • I hold her close. She is two years young, stands tall at 34 inches and likes to squirm around. But I pull her close and hold her in my arms and feel her heart beat with mine. We snuggle warmly - sweet kisses on her forehead under her fine hair. I whisper stories of her strength and beauty and amazing intelligence and creativity. Her eyes shine and when she laughs she makes me cry with happiness. She runs fast, her skinny legs a blurred windmill pulling lengths of lacy skirts. When she's tired I hold her close and sing songs from Mary Poppins. Then she squirms away again and marches around the room, knees high, skipping high, higher and highest - she thinks she will fly. She doesn't understand my heaviness or why with my long adult legs I can't skip high enough to touch the ceiling. Or why I can't swirl with an umbrella off the front porch, and alongside her catch the wind, lifting up into the sky and then twirl and twirl down like a propeller seed, landing on our knees on the grass squealing with joy. Then I take her again into my lap and we giggle and tell stories of our cats. They purr so loudly and entertain us. And we hold each other close. And we sing a soft song to the past and the future. And finally fall sleep, one heart.
    • Share

    Connected stories:

About

Collections let you gather your favorite stories into shareable groups.

To collect stories, please become a Citizen.

    Copy and paste this embed code into your web page:

    px wide
    px tall
    Send this story to a friend:
    Would you like to send another?

      To retell stories, please .

        Sprouting stories lets you respond with a story of your own — like telling stories ’round a campfire.

        To sprout stories, please .

            Better browser, please.

            To view Cowbird, please use the latest version of Chrome, Safari, Firefox, Opera, or Internet Explorer.