Remembering is something of the past; an old cerebral practice.

Where I searched the banks of rivers since dry,

For the vessels and water which made up my journey.

xxx

Now, there is nothing left, but now.

Where the present is the presence of being,

And the past is a single move to an older present, not a remembrance.

xxx

So all is at peace in the strangeness of being at one with all.

Some see them faintly,

Once in a while.

Others are desirous of an encounter,

Hoping beyond hope … for affirmation.

xxx

The rest of us wait, patiently for a sign of their presence.

The recent visit of my father to my town brought smiles to my face.

A walk in the sun,

Breakfast at the “Talk of the Town”,

Cutting lawns,

Fixing stairways,

Sharing all together.

xxx

These are the halcyon days of the summer of my life.

An undernourished well receives no sympathy,

Once used, or unreplenished they leave me to nature;

Suddenly I am now a landmark of where others used me,

And then deserted me, once I was spent.

xx

Yet, I am not done, but rather waiting,

Patiently,

Until I can be of service again.