retired is my aching

Past are the afternoons scribbling in journals on wooden docks floating between home and away.

Silenced are the nagging questions of my 20’s as to my exact being, purpose, and fate.

Retreated has the wave of life overwhelm that I used to feel ever sneaking up behind my back.

And taken are the pictures of sunsets, flowers and friends met along the way.

Surprised am I, with the realization that silence, grounding, home and routine are words for which I now have affinity.

The elders snicker. They kept their little joke. As it was kept from them.
Knowing the most lucid in life – comes always by surprise. And not denying me that pleasure.

If there is anything that I have learned from Life, it’s that it has a sophisticated sense of humor.
Only Life can pull off, without mean-spiritedness, the expert use of irony, pun, and satire.
With the effect of leaving me shaking in simultaneous tears and laughter.
After all, those are the moments,
Where I feel my heart beating, in my feet, and in rhythm,
With something greater.

Missing are the sentences of explanation within my paragraphs.
Dissipated is my ambition to be distinguished.
Quelled is my fire to move.

Yesterday I stood on top of a small mountain and cried at the perfect sound of the last golden aspen leaves applauding in the wind.
Today, I stood on top of the same small mountain and grabbed the mulch of the fallen and breathed deeply of its decomposing musk,
Sending me to the profound underworlds of memories unknown.

Alive is my ability to tremble with raw beauty’s stab at my soul.
Engaged is my appreciation for every breath of life I’m awarded.
Curious is my spirit for the sighting of all that moves when one is still.

This month, I quit half my job: the “stressful half” I tell people.
Last night, I recorded six subsequent dreams in my journal.
More than all the dreams I recorded in the entire year prior.

This year I lost two friends, my own age, to cancer.
I feel them close. At the top of the mountain.

I’ve spent 6 of the last 7 months travelling.
But said are all my sentences in summing up my travels.
Uninterested am I in talking about myself.
Please don’t make me. I find myself constantly pleading.

The weather, today, calls for snow.
And I will keep my eye on the horizon. Waiting.
I will hike up the mountain again. And even though it’s cold, I will take off my sweater.
To feel the bitterness of the wind on my skin.
And when the snow comes, I will welcome the blanket of quiet,
Mirroring that of my retired aching.

Three times this week, I’ve sat with time, coffee, and stalled fingers over my keyboard.
But nothing came.
Confused is my instinct on where to begin.

Last night I fell asleep at 9.
This morning I woke at 5.
And clear was the voice that whispered,
Just begin where you are.

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