Midlife.
The last of beginner’s blessings steps quietly out the door.
We sailed together, in our time. Mapped the constellations. Gazed at star-girded heavens, trod the earth, breathed forests, worried in the tempest chatter of time.
A thousand times broken, a thousand times mended.
And still I walk.
I am here to walk.
Still here.
By the middle of August, I am so weary of the heat.
I prefer the curtains drawn.
Dreaming of autumn oranges, melancholy browns, bronzed reds, last chance yellows.
Dreaming autumn, in the high noon of summer’s unrelenting glare.
Give me instead the odd light of an October afternoon, the brief, amber glow of a fall sunset.
The rain nobody wants.
The benediction of autumn.
Return to me with your soaking rains. Bathe my blistered soul in your gentle fog.
Why does the end of summer feel like a new beginning? It’s an old friend unchanging, making everything new again.
Comfortably ancient, rising once more in the space between storms.
Light like lazy smoke curling in thin air.
The world turning and tucking its face beneath a wing.
When this is all there is,
and at last, it is enough.
Enough.
I hereby invite you to my tea party of tenderest Valentine dreams.
Care to come along?
A little bird told me your soul was longing for respite. For tenderness and quiet and escape from the ordinary.
Simple loving care …
… a flight of fancy, as pink and sparkly as you please.
With the emphasis on you.
The table is set.
There are plenty of pastries.
Almost too pretty to eat. Almost.
Your tea awaits, madame.
So pick out a dress.
They all fit. (It’s magic!)
Adorn yourself.
Come to our secret party …
… and cast your cares aside. Just for a little while.
Without apology.
Not a single one.
Your tea is already steeping.
The inner girl is longing to be set free …
I’ll meet you there.
Poetry & Stars 