Springtime in Alabama

Flying High
Photo by Alex, 25 March, 2006
Click to enlarge

Granma's Touch-me-nots

Granma lived in a little cottage, on a little hill. Flowers of every kind filled her yard and window sill. Dandelions, daisies, daffodils... roses... buttercups...
And... well, she had a lot. But my most special favorite was... the... touch-me-nots.

Granma said, "Don't touch these, Steve... or they'll explode." Now ain't that kinda like telling a little boy, Don't pick up a toad?
I guess Granma figured that out, 'cause she started watching me like a hawk. Dog-gone-it, if I didn't know better I'd say those touch-me-nots could talk.

Steve... Steve... I could hear them calling me from the front porch swing. Granma's warning just disappeared from my head. I just... kind of forgot, it didn't mean a thing.
I started with the daffodils, I bent down and took a great big sniff. I edged my way on over like I was on the edge of a great big cliff.

"Oh! What some pretty roses," I heard myself say, as Granma turned her lazer beam eyes and looked my way. She smiled her approval, though, at the observation I had made.
So I sniffed and I sniffed, and I admired and I admired, Until Granma's attention began to fade.

"Whew! How did it get so hot?" I wondered, As Granma's touch-me-nots I pondered.
Almost there... almost there, I thought, as I slid my sneakers a sneaky slide. Look out, touch-me-nots, there's nowhere for you to hide.

I forgot all about Granma, in my touch-me-not exhiliration. So when I reached my hand out, I was caught in Hurricane Granma's rotation.

The moral of this story could be told in many ways, but to do Granma justice would take me many days. So let me, if you will, boil it down to just one more jot:

DO NOT, DON'T EVER, NEVER, WHATEVER YOU DO, BOYS AND GIRLS -- DON'T EVER TOUCH YOUR GRANMA'S TOUCH-ME-NOTS!

______

Photo and poem used by permission of my friends Steve and his son Alex, who own all rights. To see more of their work, please visit Stones Stones.org.