one for mom and the road

I wrote the poem below on Mother’s Day morning 2025.

But I didn’t publish it until today – four days later – because James took me pillion on his bike (aka ‘backpack’) and I didn’t have time to record the audio that day because we were out most of the afternoon. James’ friend Jacques (now also my friend) came with us.

The three of us had a great time riding the Ontario Highlands. It would have been even better if I’d been on my own bike, but hopefully I will be in my own saddle again sometime in the not-too-distant future.

In the meantime, better to ride backpack than to not ride at all.

The photograph at the very top of this post was taken on the crest of the hill on the road on which Mom lived. The house was built in 1802. It has four wood-burning fireplaces, pine floors and lots of large windows. Mom loved the home in which she had lived for forty years. She wasn’t so keen on the sound of motorcycles going up the hill and by the house in the summer months.

I took the picture of that hill on the morning of November 16, 2012, the day Mom went into long-term jail. The sky was blue, hoar frost coated the trees and I was broken hearted. Her big red-brick house was to my left as I captured the late-fall landscape.

I hope you enjoy this poem for Mom and the road.