A Time To Remember
It’s been a peaceful month
in our home near the sea,
where the locals are old,
visitors are grateful,
distant poets all in good form.
It’s been a month of reunion,
and daily thanksgiving,
of many old friends
and a new few.
We live mostly for today,
knowing the gods will laugh
at foolish plans beyond
breakfast or lunch.
Winter’s not yet here,
the heat lingering on.
No complaints heard, however,
not so much that they aren’t made,
just not heard.
There’s much to be learned
at this age, in this age.
A little loss of sound can be a blessing,
a chance to return to the
total self-absorption of youth.
This month brings homecoming reminders,
a time for connection and reconnection,
visits, phone calls, letters, cards, and emails,
in that very descending order of intimacy.
It really is unfortunate
what that email thing has done to
letter writing, ancient and loving art.
Letters give more time, have more heart,
allow the writer to be reflective, like a poet,
searching, reaching, looking
for just the right words.
A writer of letters gets to recall,
to muse a bit about the addressee, to
remember precious moments, to dream of
better moments yet to come,
maybe even to plan some, to say so.
It is a peaceful activity, letter writing,
perfect for the cooler days of year’s end.
We’ll tiptoe through these next few weeks,
knowing soon, the new year will come
and we’ll make it our peaceful own.
My sweetie, our old cat and me.
