It rained last night
and this morning was gray with a slight mist.
I awoke later than usual –
the sun was trying to peek through the clouds
like a round spot in the sky
with a shade of orange in the silvery shadows
The grass is wet and the smell from the earth
is like that of a late summer rain and me
I am still me
with a mind full of ideas.
And the way the wind blows, it changes, right?
The winds change and so does the weather,
so does the time,
and so do the fashions, the music,
the shows we watch and the foods we eat.
Life is a constant page turner.
I know this now.
Sometimes we read the writing on the wall
and other times
we get lazy or comfortable
and we skip a few pages thinking,
“I’ll just figure it out as I go along.”
I don’t know how this happened.
Age, I mean.
Or better yet, this thing called maturity
where’d this come from?
I’m not sure when or where this began.
At least, not really.
I suppose one day, I started speaking in complete sentences
and just like that, I started to grow.
They say you can’t walk around worrying about
what other people think
or how other people see you.
They say this and, of course, we still do it
I mean, let’s be honest, people-pleasing is a real thing.
Did I ever tell you about the first time I went on a retreat?
Well, this was also the only time I went on a retreat and, with the exception of a few things, the weekend was mostly unmemorable.
Notice that I said mostly?
I can tell you this without any doubt in my mind,
the beast speaks in whispers
which are louder than any scream; yet
as hard as we try to cover the sounds –
we still hear them.
We hear everything
In a perfect world, no one would ever get old
No one would ever die or feel pain or touch a moment of sadness.
In a perfect world, your favorite gum would never lose flavor,
you could eat as much of anything you want
and you’d never gain too much weight,
you’d never hear the word calories as a threat
or be put off and think about things
like your cholesterol.
It’s not just the word –
It’s the remainder of the insult
or the bruise or the balance left behind.
This is the bully, which is more than the insult itself,
which is more than the action –
This is the humiliation
this is the wake and the aftermath;
but more, this is the worst part.
It is beyond me . . .
to think of how you know someone for so long yet
there are people we meet and in an instant,
the world changes
and it seems as if we’ve known each other
But more, it’s amazing how time passes
and people go their own ways,
only to circle back
as a means of fate:
to reconnect and to find each other again.
I swear, there’s something to this
Something deeper than say,
that is, if fate is what they say it is –
I think about small towns
and scenes of gymnasiums in public schools
with banners and flags and little streamers of school spirit.
I think of this in comparison
to one of those old Norman Rockwell photos,
taken and drawn from when life was safe
and all was presumed innocent before proven guilty.