Deep time
We are sitting in the dimmed lights, feet on warm pine floor, in a circle,
watching the flickering screen of home spun filmĀ from long ago,
(or not so long,
depending on how long you’ve lived,)
watching children like ours,
and parents like us,
playing with these cards,
this tree house,
running around this garden,
up these stairs,
laughing as we do,
free as we are,
together.
And I ask,
how old are they now?
Grown up, with children of their own,
parents are grandparents,
the children have left home,
don’t come here any more.
And my throat catches
as I see my own aging,
eyes pricking as I see that my now bigger children
first came here when they were that small.
My breath sinks deeply into long time,
this,
our being here,
together,
feels timeless, limitless
and yet so, I see, will pass.
We are but a season,
budding, blooming, shedding, dying
as the steady foundations
of stone
and root
and love
continue on.
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