Walking is different now –
my hips in some new relation
to their sockets,
my back and belly negotiating
an imperfect balance.
Perhaps that’s why
I let my feet do the navigating…
my mind tuned to a different channel,
or maybe a new dial
Right, and left, and left again,
along a road flanked by giant sycamores,
down to the river
now frozen and covered
in a downy pillow of snow.
in a deep and gentle bend
where many a summer afternoon would find us
you took your first waters.
I knew you were already with us then
before any test would make it certain.
the place in the midst of the river.
That’s where you are,
like the waters running under that icy surface.
There, just beyond the eye
but only for a while longer.
Poetry and Musings of an Interfaith Minister on the Journey of a Lifetime.