It matters not if we come late to wisdom
Have we come early to joy.
As children we are content with puzzles
Which may become a confusion
Of intemperance beyond their expiration date.
If we outlive our productivity, we can still
Rest in that glow; warming to remembrance,
Its fainting profusion
Now a single blossom
Become ash.
It is only that we have lived at some time
To capacity.
Our stillness is given to action
At levels now awash in Time’s changing tides.
Even when there are no pictures,
There are memories yet alive & aglow.
Our beaches laid bare in detritus
Still own the perfect shell
That one white pearl where we were treasured
Only for being who we are.
These moments sustain & re-root.
A new leaf on a seemingly dead stalk
Is still vital & attractive.
We still contribute to life’s ledgers
For the sake of the positive.
We underline life with a curve of laughter
A smile at rain, a thrill of wind
A moment alone later shared in hive-mind.
If I have had one thought others may learn from:
One idea which, drawn across the match cover of here & now
Sparks a candle or a forest fire.
I thank you, Life, for choosing your manifestation
In me, of me, around me, about me, even in lieu of me.
Where would I be had I not chosen to be here?
Carol B
2/23/23
Riding the Light 
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