The days are shorter and the air cooler now.
at the top of the hill,
is our warm,
A place we nurse wounds,
laugh if we can.
Sheltered from rain,
we read books,
write stories and play board games.
We’ve grown to appreciate the way the birds sing.
We’re grateful hospitals send us home,
because we’ve known young people
sent to hospice.
Yeah, young ones.
And fresh faces who passed while sleeping.
They looked healthy....
We might complain on a sofa asking for a tea.
Flowers entertain our aching bones.
Trees sway near the window,
the dogs make a fuss,
visiting grand kids giggle on the stairs.
there’s the promise of a better place.
I’m bundled up imagining it.
filled with love,
and those traveling before us.
much, much higher,
with expansive panoramic views.
We won’t need doctors anymore
probably not even tea,
and complaining will be a thing of the past.
Until that time--
each time I drive
or walk up that little hill--
my heart fills with immense anticipation,
bubbling with appreciation,
for stucco walls,
a tile roof.
Where I can cry if I feel like crying,
or choose to laugh.
Where I can be thankful,
for another cool day--