Middle age is our chance to know better,

to un-learn some olden ways.

 

After a hike in the mountains

I sit in a foothill meadow

staring softly into the low, evening sun.

The back-lit grasses are a wonder,

glowing like angels in the gentle light.

 

With the light in front I see sparkles and faeries

But when I look behind me

the meadow slumps into a stale green mat.

 

I sit down in silence.

I sit still so serenity may unveil

truths behind fears.

I withhold judgment,

and notice the river of thoughts and doubts and worries as they flow,

ceaselessly circuitous,

depressing as a skipping Smiths record.

 

Nearby,

Pine Creek gathers up my worries,

flushing them out with the tide.

My doubts are sucked up by the soil

while the wind wrangles stray thoughts,

the pesky ones that won't abide.

 

See those golden plains

beneath the

mountain passes?

Look into the light,

and shine

like back-lit grasses.

 

 --  Kirk Merlin