When I grow really old I may have to do yoga Full time, to get out The aches and creaks. When I grow really old

The chimes outside the pottery studio ring like a temple bell, calling the faithful to honor,

As I age this last quarter of my life, I am fading into the background. As I let go of roles,

Harsh reality smacks like a slap of cold wind. Sometimes I’m a tough sailor, at the helm,

Oh hummingbird Where are you now? Have you taken My courage with you? Oh hummingbird

Inhale, the arms float up, Exhale, the arms float down, Namaste, at the heart. Inhale, the body bends, Hands at top of mat,

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.

In the dead Of Winter, I long for Spring. In the rains Of Spring,

Squirrels with bushy orange tails leap about the deck. Crickets hum, confused that it’s not dark yet. The caw of a blue jay

The misty, night rain, Soaking bare trees, Bringing nourishment. I stand at the window, A steady beat echoes

Twilight slides in quietly as birds fly to warm nests. Pink hues of evening reflect in the clouds. Soon the moon

As we shared stories, The warm hum of voices heard, A cup of love spilled.

As I enter my sixty-third year, Fall leaves grace the path I love, With hues of red, Gold and orange.

Half a world away, I walk a narrow, stone path. In the rice fields, the Balinese people

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.