Playing Fair and Being Kind

I have finally caught up with my age. The years have been good to me but my eyes are starting to fail. First went the legs and now the eyes. So be it. I am happy to have what I have. I won’t go through the list. *I heard that!*

There is a birch tree across the road that has inspired several poems one of which is about a grande dame who is getting up there, so to speak. The most obvious character for me is Norma Desmond of Sunset Boulevard. Still lovely but beginning to display the ‘growing up’ part of life. My doctor always assures me that my skins spots and eruptions and scars are just signs of ‘growing up’. He is a charmer.

The birch tree has a set of bare branches near the top that exhibit signs of age and provide the metaphor for me of aging as I look out my front window for inspiration. At the very top on the right is a fork that, to me, looks like a smallish bird perched on the very tip top branch. The fork looks just like a sparrow hawk, a raptor, waiting for something to move on the ground so it can strike, kill, and eat. After looking at the screen on the laptop for a few hours my eyes get blurry and that could be anything perched high up on the birch tree across the road. Well, a few days ago I had very clear vision early in the morning and I saw the configuration of the fork at the end of the uppermost branch on the right was certainly not a raptor, or sparrow hawk, waiting for a victim. It was a cleverly positioned fork in the branch. Mystery solved. Branch.

Today I saw the raptor again in the same place. I took pictures and even walked down the driveway to get a closer look. Ah! No raptor only a branch with smart-ass fork at the top. Thank goodness I won’t be making that mistake anymore! At least not today.

Here are some photos. I hope you see a raptor. *chuckle* And I am posting the poem as well. Have a beautiful and peaceful day. Don’t read about Trump or Nazis. Just take a long nap and eat blueberry pie if you have access to one. Peace out. G. M. Goodwin 15 August 2017

DON’T STARE

A sky filled with rain

gentle,

A figure once admired

waits,

Pieces are missing,

still lovely,

But…

Waiting to die.

Don’t stare.

A figure once proudly

posing,

A sky with warm rain

raining,

Two eyes openly

pleading,

Just…

Waiting to die.

Don’t stare.

She defiantly

straightens,

Head thrown back

proudly,

Shoulders aligned and

toned,

Look…

It’s not time to die.

Look but…

Don’t stare.

Promising whispers

Signal renewing,

What remains of her

enchanting,

She goes about her

activity,

Waiting to die.

George M. Goodwin

September 21, 2014