An Observation Not a Poem

This is the kind of morning I’ve waited for my whole life.

Bright. Cool. Quiet.
Nowhere to go. Nothing to do.
No job. No children. No blaring TV.

At the moment
The world is standing still.

I am neither young nor old
Sickly nor healthy
Fat nor skinny

I am not a writer, a data analyst, nor a sales clerk
I am not retired nor working.
I am not a grandmother, wife, nor best friend

I am not worried about Covid nor my car breaking down nor being a cancer survivor.

I am not plagued by memories of bankruptcy, moving, nor losing my parents and in-laws.

Sitting outside on the morning deck
For a few moments
I am here.
Only here.

I am the warm sunshine on my face and the tinkling windchimes in the wind.

I am the bumble bee that stops to feed on my butterfly bush and the frog singing in the damp field and the strange bird that chirps just out of sight.

I am the plastic ornaments that sparkle tirelessly between the railings and the blooming cactus patiently waiting for my turn in the sun.

I am the airplane high above the clouds and the song of flying geese passing by.

At the moment
I am not worried
About life or death.
Breathing or not breathing.
An afterlife or a void.

In this moment
The only thing that matters
Is the beauty of life
The fragility of now

Sixty-eight years have run through this body in the sun
A brief thought of sixty eight more flashes through me

But this morning
This moment
Is enough.

 

 

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