Figuring Out Life While Aging
The glittering lake mirrors
the sun that faded
your young grin.
Is this peace or loss,
or simply the sun’s rotations
announcing changes?
The world’s surface shifts -
a kaleidoscope of constantly
burying and emerging stillnesses -
Glittering and storming times,
dark and morning lights,
red pains and quiet waves.
We wade watching
the swimming others
until we, too, drown.
There’s peace during and after
our time clasping hands
too tightly and not tightly enough.
The shadow of a bird
flicks over the
white seed globes of dandelions.
Seagulls criss-cross over
the undulating waters
and the air smells green.
Water slaps rock.
Birds chirp.
I am in the quiet.
Spring unveils herself first
from behind the curtain of winter
with small flashes
of colour: purple crocuses, yellow
daffodils, green sprouts,
the golding branches of willows.
The winter green of evergreens
is present always through
bare branches,
but now Spring drapes a pale
scarlet mist around a few trees
and bright greens clutch her limbs.
She teases, displaying swelling buds
as, on the ground, red tulips open,
then she flaunts her magnolias, and
wanton displays of pink blossoms,
white ones ripening, variegated
greens hiding branches.
Spring unveils herself
to the swelling sounds of birdsong,
through sunlight and rain,
through ducks and swans and flying geese,
through colours, growing touches and sounds -
warming her waiting, watching audience!
A Portuguese term, saudade, is a deep emotional state where love, absence, memory, and time intertwine. It is not about missing something you love. It is about something that continues to exist deeply within you even when it is physically far away,
I drive by ghosts on familiar streets,
their eyes downcast,
their hands pocketed,
their voices silent,
I see them blindly touch bare-branched trees,
ignoring the magnolia blossoms
and the electric green leafing
of trees celebrating
spring’s resurrections.
The rain pocks the windshield
as I look away,
steering past,
not calling their names.
They lived here but we’ve left that time;
the unevenly greening leaves and buds on bare branches
sing new paths, new stories,
and the brief glories of magnolia blossoms
speak of the ongoing joys of life.
Cross-posted at Substack – https://joanvinallcox.substack.com/p/saudade
Learning Living 