Tonight’s Moon reminds me that I too
am waning. My number increases each year
but in fact, it lessens each month.
The candle’s wax wanes on the windowsill –
a small sun between myself and Moon.
I find it a part of aging –
what I’ve thrown to lighten the load
and keep myself afloat and on course.
This center of gravity, balance in storms,
leaving minimal wreckage floating at the end.
On another site, I have written about the origin and meaning of the terms “flotsam and jetsam” which are usually heard together but have different meanings. See whynameitthat.blogspot.com…flotsam-and-jetsam
This birthday once meant retirement. The end.
Now, I’m told it’s just a number.
But that greeting card message didn’t reach
my eyes, knees and heart. They feel
like my brain – tired, nostalgic, inexplicably crying.
I look for a red giant tonight.
A star late in its stellar evolution.
In a cloud that’s not a cloud.
How old we are. How we want
a supernova ending. How difficult is dying.
The solstice came, the days lengthen and
winter blows colder winds, but tree man,
a gentle soul, not a horror legend,
holds on to his brown autumn coat,
guarding the creek, watching me grow old.
after many autumns, winters and final fall
is rings – a dendrochronology of historical context,
environmental conditions, and possible future issues.
Earlywood, latewood, drought year, wet year, diseases –
no soul, but a body outliving life.