1. Trees have grown taller
2. My children are adults
3. I have grandchildren
5. My parents have died
6. My words have found homes on other pages
7. My compassion has grown
8. My desires have evolved
9. I remember all of the nursery rhythms from my youth
10. I still could loose a few pounds.
In all of this, what I know the most clearly is; one can always grow, one can always love, and one can always forgive.*
* One should always plant bulbs knowing, in spring hope will grow again.
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| Photo courtesy of my niece Kristine |
Spring slowly awakens my apple tree with shy leaves creeping out tentatively from
the small buds that were set last year.
Testing the cold air of April while taking the risk of growing.
In hope of this very moment,
The small pink flowers of beauty call to the bees to come,
Drink of the nectar, while inadvertently allowing the sensual sex of trees to bring forth fruit.
As it is heavy laden with flowers, waiting to give birth to the fruit of its branches.
The apple tree outside my window
Waves hello to me in the summer
The branches heavy with fruit and leaves brush up against my window,
In the dry warm winds of the last days of golden sun,
I am brought back to the summers of laying in the orchard of my youth,
Reading a book,
Not noticing time blowing by with the wind.
Ahh but Autumn.
My tree graciously gives to me, not only the
Rustling of the leaves against my screen on my window,
But the joy of watching slowly ripening fruit.
Even though, I must call to the squirrels to leave the fruit alone,
So, I alone,
May eat of the garden of Eden in my back yard.
During the winter I gaze longingly at the baren branches,
Dreaming of the spring leaves that will sprout, with the promise of spring.
The empty branches, look baren,
but I know better,
I know that spring follows winter,
even though I am now in the winter of my life, and my spring is over,
my fruit has grown,
and bringing forth fruit of their own,
This young tree is going to go on to bring forth fruit,
For years to come, without me.
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| You are the sun, this is me mirroring you. |
I see your face, though you cannot see mine.
It is a glimpse in the mirror as I walk past the doorway.
Your eyes are focused somewhere else,
so I can look without observation in the reverse.
There are laugh lines, which others can see.
But I know things, not obvious to the casual observer,
and I am nothing close to a casual observer.
I know you have been hit with harsh moments,
between your rust colored eyes, hard.
I know you choose smiles that slide onto your face,
instead of holding the hurt close.
All of these thoughts travel the speed of a blink,
as you see me, watching you, in the mirror.
And, you smile with a question in your eyes,
asking me if all is well?
Which it is, as we mirror each other,
in a moment.
