WOODEN

My mother was made of wood - there I've said it.  There's no point proclaiming her many qualities, and many there were, without stating this fact up front. When I say 'wood' you may imagine she was constructed from some exotic tropical hardwood, but not so. Neither was she made of hard-wearing pine, hewn from a renewable forest in Scandinavia. From head-to-toe, she was a creature of willow and it was willow sap that pulsed through her veins. She was lithe and supple, generous and loving and she gave me everything she had. She was still young in rings when she was taken from me, and even now in the evening of my own life, I weep bitter tears for my loss.

My father, on the other hand, was metal - and had wheels.