Maybe once in a while he doubts himself.
Maybe sometimes he thinks he’s normal, ordinary.
But she knows better.
She knows the vastness of him.
His extraordinary essence of being.
She thinks he is as boundless as the universe and as magnificent as all the galaxies combined.
And when she thinks of him, she can hardly breathe.
News of a passing breeze reaches me —
One that floats, and swirls, and whisps peacefully
One that rustles old trees that glow golden in the late evening sunbeams.
My ears tense as they wait, listening expectantly
I hear footsteps approaching, they groan and they squeak rhythmically
And fall slow and heavy on the concrete.
The young children start giggling —
Their soft chatter goes up into the air as if tangling
With the quickly dimming ashes, floating and dancing.
I tense once again, this time more fearfully
For something I’m scared to believe —
Something called gravity.
I’m watching and waiting and listening half expecting
That piercing screams will soon be reaching me.
The air remains still, just gently blowing —
The giggles of children still rhythmically going.
The squeaking has stopped —
Grandpa is seated.
I hear his voice breaking into the flow of my thoughts and I pause —
to listen.
“There’s a passing breeze,” he begins to speak,
“But it’s peaceful and doesn’t concern me.
no use spending out all my anxiety.”
He is breathing ever so deeply —
And I watch him with growing envy.
Now the fire is dancing on his worn and stretched face —
Sunbeams are swallowed by shadow —
And so gone is the day —
All the time that I’ve wasted with tasteless anxiety.
He peers up at the stars and slowly makes a remark,
“It’s a wonder those things are still smiling down on me.”
He has lived all his days.
And he loves what each gave.
All the good and the bad —
To him, wonderfully great.
He was never once lacking —
Nor filled with anxiety.
He has always been peaceful and still —
He is breathing.
But yet —
Not simply breathing.
He is completely, undoubtedly,
Unmistakably happy.
Amid the Adirondacks, my log retreat,
Beneath pines, where dreams are sweet.
Cozy nooks, where warmth thrives,
Dotted blanket of stars, cover my sleepy eyes.
Enlightened by nature, a true oasis,
Forest whispers, like ghostly traces.
Gentle streams hum, soothing sound,
Haven of peace, where joy is found.
Ivory snow covers the rugged land,
Journeying through, in joy, I stand.
Kindling fires, tall tales by the fire,
Lingering moments, until we retire.
Moonlit nights paint a surreal scene,
Nestled in solace, a haven serene.
Old spruce beams echo times of old
Pine scented memories, precious and bold.
Quietness rules in this woodland space,
Rustic charm, in each timbers grace.
Savoring solitude, a love that grows,
Tucked in the Adirondacks, where my heart glows.
Under the canopy, stars softly gleam,
Valley echoes with a philosopher's dream.
Woodsmoke trails weave stories untold,
Xanadu of my heart, in logs of gold.
Yearning fulfilled, nature's embrace,
Zeal for my cabin, a love, time won’t erase. erase
