The Late Years Thirteen

My figs back in August 2011. They've been hurt in recent years by late frosts, but they're still alive.

The Late Years Thirteen January 27, 2019

After Julia Kennedy’s Bijoux 12 painting

It’s the way my life is now. Some days
pale blue, threatening to turn pink like
the clouds at sunrise. Then next thing I
know, a darker blue, with streaks of 
very dark navy blue. These years have
their triumphs when I break a dead limb
off a still vibrant fig tree or the hen
whose become a successful escape
artist, trusts me enough to wait on the porch
rail at the back door for me to open the
coop and let her back in. Other days the 
light blue darkens to nearly black. I lose 
people who were always there, who
helped me in a pinch. Or I fall in the
night, reaching for the light switch. I
walk slowly, deliberately, keeping
an eye on the path lest I stumble,
but every now and then, before I
can re-balance, I’m down. Somewhere
though, just beyond, the clouds are
pink, and that’s my destination. I do
all I can do, and I still walk without
a cane. My health holds. The people
I love love me, forgive me my 
forgetfulness and my stubborn streak.
I’ll take the pale blue as skybluepink 
and imagine that more rewards will

arrive while I’m still alive.