Happy Birthday, Red Angel

Happy birthday, Red Angel. I'm going to take you back to North Dakota, because we had such fun there, and because you still had all six wisdom teeth when we were there in June. I figured you would want to see photos of yourself just as the Lord made you.

You are an excellent driver (of golf carts). Even though Al Batt doesn't look so sure, Ann and Ernie Hoffert trusted you, and so did I. I would ride in a golf cart with you anywhere. I think that's about the happiest I've seen you in a long time, tooling around in a golf cart as the sun sank in the prairie sky, throwing your head back and laughing.

I love to watch you discover nature. You field a giant puffball tossed your way without squealing and dropping it. I like that. Maybe you wouldn't eat it if I cooked it up, but you get points for catching it.

You are a creative girl, a girl happy to leave mysteries for others to decipher. If there even are any others out here.

You are kind to animals (even ones that don't match your color scheme)

and to your little brother, and he loves you endlessly for that.

You are becoming a true connoisseur of food and eating establishments both humble and grand. And you show the makings of a pretty good cook, too. You're fun to be with

and highly attractive to strangers. Strangers have the best candy.

Almost most important of all, you're hilarious, and being hilarious is a prerequisite in this family. 

Did I say you're beautiful, too? Oh, sorry. 

Happy birthday, Beautiful. The white lilacs pale beside you.

Thanks to Ann and Ernie Hoffert for the magical gift of prairie places, their glorious gardens, and their friendship. 

Happy Birthday, Beautiful!

Who knew that a daughter could become a muse
Spurring aesthetic ecstasy
My own private model
Moving gracefully through meadow and still waters.




Though you are at an age most consider awkward
You don't catch a deer looking ungainly
and it is hard to find you other than lovely.


You are kind to the young and helpless
Beloved by toddlers--a good measure of character.





And you can put a turkey poult to sleep
With a gentle massage to its tiny skull.
Look, Mommy, he loves this.


Fearless, you vault into space
and cartwheel along
Your young bones limber
Your ankles still resilient.


I'd love to live in that willowy body
Just for a day. All right, a few hours.
To feel that spring, that lightness
That I once had and now fight to regain.


You are baking now, cookies and cakes and bars
Happily making just the things I must avoid.
I can't deny you the joy of creating, so we eat some and give the rest away.
The struggle goes on. But not for you.


You've too much sense to text while driving
Having fallen in and then out of love with your cellphone
Granting that privilege early worked fine
For you are a child of sense and sensibility.



Yes, you'll be driving only two years hence
And I will watch you disappear
Trusting your instincts and your reflexes
To bring you safely home again.



But I won't think about that now.
You're fourteen and beautiful
And I'll keep you here like a butterfly
Until it's time to let you go.