The Late Years Twenty

Sunrise at Jordan Lake March 16, 2019 by Doc Ellen, DVM

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The Late Years Twenty March 17, 2019

Normally I see the sun rise when
the cloud cover permits. The sky
can be red and pink as far as the eye
can see. Never exactly the same sky, 
yet never before had I seen cloud
feathers–huge wings of delicate white 
all over the sky, and when they
faded, the sun: molten gold. I’ll
write about those I told myself:
cloud feathers and molten gold.
These years I take days one at a
time. The practical problems
often wait too long. I’ve run
out of egg cartons. I can’t think
what to make for dinner. When
I have a list of things to do?
What shall I do first? The hens
are flying out of their run even
though I clipped their wings.
Now a possum has been sighted.
They haven’t been near the
hens for years, but they do kill
them. I’ll ask my son to help.
It’s why he’s here, but I still
hate to ask. I will. When I
ignore my aging body’s limits, 
it signals me loud and clear:
slow down. Even so, it heals.
I go on, more deliberately, paying
attention, calming myself with

tea and memory: I’m still me.