When I was seven years old, my mother bought
me a colorful plastic pinwheel from the
Mammoth Mart in Calais. I loved my pin wheel.
Into our old 65’ Buick I was proud to be in the
backseat with my mom driving and me proudly
holding my pinwheel in my hand as the wind
blew through the window and a sound of clicking
and the sight of swirling colors instantly vanished before me.
My pinwheel was gone. Mom said my look was
shock and horror.
50 years later, I finally found a pinwheel on a post
in a city in Southern Maine. Maybe it’s a pinwheel
or maybe a flower or mandala. I was happy to
see it will never blow away…
Rev. Michael Glidden 9-23-2024
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