The Next Adventure: Being Old

I’m Croning

                        excerpt from my book “Journey”

Don’t bother me with matching threads and buttons
with make-up, manicures or polished silver,
no time for cooking casseroles and sit-down dinner guests
I’m busy, croning.

The dandelions are pretty, are they not?
The hedge is rampant, full of birds
they’re watching me
I’m croning.

I root among the roots of trees
I hiss in the voice of rapids
I enter the shaman’s cave and stir the ashes

I walk barefoot, tenderly, on the unexplored paths
of my inner forest
I step gently into mysterious nooks
and wade in the shifting sands of knowing

There is a dark-water lake
filled with the tears of children
I sit on its shores and sing lullabies
until it sparkles

My pockets are full of seeds
I plant them wherever I see a crack
in the cemented girdle of our mother

I ride the blood stream of my life
to where it joins the ocean of humanity
and beyond, to planetary seas

And the universe so vast and joyous
and all I do, to keep on course, is breathe,
with eyes wide open, like a child.
I’m croning.

And when I’m done,
when I emerge
all feathers bright and wings enormous
then I’ll be flying,
yes,
then I’ll be soaring!

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