If you were here

I would never stop talking

there would always be

answers leading to more questions

deep moments of

silence

I’d gaze

you’d grin

private joke

no explanation needed

I’d look for your approval

your consent

you wisely know

the right words to

say

We’d tell stories

gazing at the stars

searching their secrets

holding hopes and dreams

close in our

arms

Thanks for the Photo: Jared Smith (Licensing Creative Commons)

The Ebb and Flow

Just as friendship

so is the Sea

she flows in and out

she listens to me

I hear her voice

sometimes strong others soft

like the shell

that holds the sound aloft

Speaking one day

not the next

never would I

put our friendship to rest

there’s comfort and courage

in the words we speak

I ponder so many

some I repeat

Like a child

I clamor  – hunger for more

there’s never too much

wisdom from my friend at the shore

Thanks to Noel back in Zurich for the photo

The Worst Part (a look at the twilight years)

“This is the worst part of my life” she moaned. “Everything is in the past nothing is in the future. Why didn’t I invest in life with more vigor more passion?”

She is in the twilight years of her life. Not much more to do than eat, sleep, and shuffle. Hearing aids augment sounds but many words slip by her ears without cognition. “What will I do with what remains of me?” she screams in a hoarse whisper.

“I could have been a writer, I could have been a nurse, instead I did nothing. What was it all for?”

Oh the doubts and fears that can eclipse the thoughts of the elderly. Too late to remedy their wishes but never too late to bemoan what was lost.

“Give me your hand dear Madeline” (for that is the name I will give you today). “Let us take a walk down the primrose path of your memories. Let’s smell the sweet scent of youth – yes you can remember those familiar scents of yesteryear though your olfactory system no longer cooperates today.”

“What will we see down that path?” A handsome young man in uniform. An officer – just going to war. Hold out your arm, wave goodbye, give him the apple of your eye. When he returns, some things will never be the same.

“There just look down that overgrown walk. Let’s take a moment and stop. ” A kind faced gentleman his arm gracefully draped behind  his withered wife next to the ivy laden gate. Her aunt and uncle how proud was she to know such folks. She reflects –“they mentored me.”

Another lane, more clear to see, grown up children with babes running free. The meadow is open the sun is bright– these children represent Madeline’s years of light.

She starts to smile as she takes in the sun, the blue of the flowers, the sounds of children having fun. There’s promise you see in a world that seemed small; you had a life –it was something after all.

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