Clutching a clump of flowers in a tight little fist,
he yearned to give them to his mother.
She was on the other side of a ravine,
with her back to him.
He calls out,
she does not hear,
but continues to talk to another.
He begins to move toward her,
not deterred by the torrent.
Pulling himself up the cliff,
he moves to the right,
trying to reach her on the other side.
I reach out my hand -
my son is in danger.
Somehow, I manage to reach across,
putting my hand on his back to keep him from falling,
holding him up as he continues across the rocks.
One hand pulling himself along,
the other clutching the flowers,
intent to reach his mother,
while she talks with her back to him.
Aroha nui,
Gerald