Talking to Myself Forty-Five

 Blue iris in Judy's garden a few years ago.

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Talking to Myself Forty-Five October 25. 2020

And what is love? Long ago St. Paul

told us what we needed to know.

“Love is patient, love is kind. It does

not envy; it does not boast. It is not

proud. It does not dishonor others.

It is not self-seeking; it is not easily

angered. It keeps no record of wrongs.

Love does not delight in evil but

rejoices with the truth. It always

protects, always trusts, always hopes,

always perseveres.... Now these

three remain: faith, hope, love, but

the greatest of these is love.”*  He

speaks of love. Finally, I hear him

and believe him. He loves me. Our

age is a difficult age. It is hard to

hope, hard to believe even in love, 

and yet it arrives, despite all the

illness, the deaths, the terrible

fear of losing everything. Then

we know we can be happy. We

will live; our words will last.

We are like a huge old black oak,

its roots under both our houses.

We are not forgotten. We are

safe. Even when we fall, we will

continue to be known and loved.

* St. Paul, first Corinthians 13.