2-8-24. Thoughts on aging and letting go.
As I enter my sixty-third year, Fall leaves grace the path I love, With hues of red, Gold and orange.
In the noble purpose of my life, In the clear and quiet chamber Of my soul, In the open and warm cave Of my heart,
Birds flying here and there, landing on branches to chirp and bare, their heart. A private club among the trees with their own private code.
First snow of the season Came down light and gay, With it’s bright white, Reflecting, Off slow moving clouds
Life is a day dream So they say, With every beat Of my heart, The gate to love
The hummingbirds are buzzing As well as the bees. The Orioles land gingerly On top of the feeder. Cautiously they move down
Looking at my journal’s Blank page While geese fly by and honk A greeting. The red cardinals
On a walk, many Brown-Eye Susan line the border, before the woods. Rain clouds move closer as if to give a hug, while
Embrace that which comes with ease: The twinkling of an eye, The drumbeat of a heart, The blooming of a flower,
Holy Holy Morning glory Blooming in a haze Of purple light. Holy Holy
Today, I wish the pain to go, the fatigue that I fight so. This process of aging is unkind and yet, the law of nature is a fast lane of change.
The red cardinal high in a tree, caught my attention with his melodious chirp on my daily walk.
Brown hawk with spotted tail, soaring on the wind, balancing like a sail. Your piercing cry
Oh hummingbird Where are you now? Have you taken My courage with you? Oh hummingbird
The birds flock to the bird feeder, some with black, capped heads and others with