Pies and Memories

I'm going to finish my apple pie then lay myself down in the  green grass
I'm celebrating the small stuff,
The taste of the caramelized apples, the little crystal sugar squares that adorn the top of the crust. The crust should be buttery and melt in your mouth.
The red wine in my glass is the best pairing with my apple pie.
Pies always bring my mother to the forefront of my memories
How she would fold the dough over the pie dish adding the glistening contents.
Whether it be apples, cherries, rhubarb, and  lemon.  For those amazing lemon meringue pies. That was worth the wait.
The white mountainous peeks forming in the bowl stiff enough to hold over my head
Not once did those white mountain tops drip unto my head. My mother would smile a gleam in her eyes and say, "it's all in the wrists" I would pretend that this advice was new information. Even though we both new she said it each time.
I'm almost finished my pie so I can go down and feel the earth below me.
It's been 14 years since I lost my mother to cancer. Lost to cancer. It sounds like I should look for her in lost and found like a set of house keys, or wallet that I misplaced.
Better than loss is taken away. Too soon, the words always come when I speak about my mother's passing. She was 61 when she left this earth.
Too young! They say when I talk about her age.
I'm laying on the grass now, staring up at the big blue sky.
The apple pie is done the wine has been drunk.
I'm satiated for now.
I can remember the best times with her and I try to cling to the image of my mother baking or talking or just giving me all the love she had in her heart.
Taken away from me is how I feel. I do believe in something bigger and better than myself whatever one wishes to call it.
The universe, is my preference.
It appeals to me the most being of a dichotomy of mind. Spiritual and scientific.
The sky above is cloudless now. The sun is dipping lower in the sky but still I stay.
Laying here makes me feel grounded. I want to cling to the memories of her.
How she laughed or smiled. How she was wise and naive all at once.
I wanted to ask her so many questions as I travese through life. I'm denied this right.
These thoughts filter through my mind as I lay here.
Day has discarded its summer frock and has turn into a dark cloak of night. The night to me is a little black dress, classic and timeless
The small spattered stars give me indication that I have laid here all day with my memories.
My thoughts of pies and my mother taken too soon, but onto her next journey.
A journey I can not go on.
So I lift myself up from the grass and take my abandoned pie plate and glass of wine into the house.
It's time for gratuities and love to fold those memories of my mother back into the box of my mind.
To be at peace that she is at peace now with no pain.
I see her once again lifting the meringue bowl over my head, laughing and giving me a wink. "It's all in the wrists "
Good night mom until I open my box of  our next memories of pies and wine and the green grass below my feet.