Written to my mother's grandson, Donald Burnett, when he was elementary-age.
"You were living in Oroville when I sent this bit of "whimsy" I had composed on our "day off."
We had visited the old mission at La Purisuma. Later, while walking down a dusty road that beckoned us, the following lines popped into my head.
Wind in my hair;
Sun in my face;
Feet in the dust;
Mind out in space:
down an old dusty lane--
Piecing together my memories again.
I must have shared it with Carol (her daughter) in my next letter and later learned you had taken it to school! To you it was the most wonderful poem in the world, just because your grandmother had written it. Oh, what small boys can do to a grandmother's ego.
© 2012 by Marilyn J. Woody
Friday, July 27, 2012
The past few days I reread Lyn Cryderman's "Glory Land - A Memoir of a Lifetime in Church." He reminded me of the songs, the sermons, the flannelgraphs, the colored paper, and white paste of Sunday School. The tales he recounted as he traced his faith, took me back to my own journey in the church, one I hope to pass along to generations to come.