The edge

What if there were no
No hope to anchor one
to soften the lows

No spring awaiting
at the edge of winter
No Sun to light
the end of night

If there wasn’t a knob
Nor a key
If there weren’t doors
to open and close

At the edge of the forest
By a lake
On a wooden bench
Shape-shifting of clouds

Hazy scenery
Muted sounds
deeply seated ache
trembling fingers

A breeze rises
From the lake
Brushing over peeks and valleys
Chiseled by passing of the years

He was old enough to know
enlightened words
In a commanding tone
Let it be known

I once knew a neurologist who struck me as wise and grand. he had dozens of kids, and his kids had dozen kids of their own. They worked together – a doctor family, living and loving life, or so it seemed.

Sure I am idealizing, paraphrasing and exaggerating my recollection of him. He did say once, when we were discussing end of life issues and incurable diseases, that simple pleasures such as sitting by a lake or in the woods and sensing the elements, sunshine, wind, sand or coolness water could be enough reason to live. Even if old and frail or terminally ill, even if he had no sight or hearing, nor the ability to walk, one could experience joy of life. I found his perspective peculiar, still do.  I’ll share (my recollection of) his words. May they speak to you. 

Thanks for reading ~ 


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