Sunday, October 20, 2019
The Late Years Fifty-Two
Eight years ago I sold my big crop of figs at our local co-op, Chatham Marketplace. But hard freezes have worked havoc on the figs in recent years.
The Late Years Fifty-Two October 20, 2019
Mostly, I don’t think about dying.
My days are full of things to do
though I’ve learned to be satisfied
with less, to rest more, and take naps
on purpose instead of by accident.
I also do my cooking by stages, take
breaks to read my novel or answer
email. I still walk up at the dam,
unless it’s too wet or blustery. I
let my son close up the hens at night.
And in rain, I take the dog out early,
even if we both get wet. I’m often so
tired, I wonder if that’s how I’ll die–
too tired to move any more--but I
sleep and my energy returns. What’s
a little rain after all? And sleep still
revives me even if I do wake up
so slowly. I often wish I could do
more. I haven’t been in the orchard
for months. I missed the figs, if they
were there, and the grapes. I stayed
out of the garden when the rooster
claimed it for his hens and chased
me off. My heart still beats steadily.
I remmber most things or they come
back to mind if I’m patient. I keep
learning to accept my limitations.
A good life lesson after all.
The actual figs.