Mum has arrived bringing with her, her unique story
She opens the pages and starts reading…

There are within the pages echoes of something familiar
Like a well known image on a puzzle, wrongly assembled

It appears that sometimes she skips a page or two
So that you lose the thread of the story that she is following perfectly
Waiting with patience and superior amusement
For us to catch up…

Suddenly she raises her head from the pages of her book
To ask; “Where am I? I really need to go home!
I’ve told no one I was going! They’ll wonder where I am!
I have nothing with me! Why did no one tell me I was coming?

Patiently and with some humour we each open our books
And begin to read to her – our stories…
But these appear too fanciful to her
And she prefers to return to her own story

In this way the five of us enjoy the holiday
Sometimes reading aloud from our books
Sometimes silently turning the pages

Sometimes simultaneously creating a cacophony
Of intersecting, overlapping stories, that no one hears or understands
Perhaps this is how our individual stories sound to mum…