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Tuesday, February 7, 2023

GIFTS

 


This is what the living do:
we wake up each morning to the day,
grateful for the waking,
our beds a time capsule,
carrying us through years
of dreams and memories.

I closed my eyes, in bliss, at forty,
on the shores of Clayoquot Sound.
When I opened them this morning,
incomprehensibly, I am seventy-six,
- here, once again,
and still -
in my heart's home.
The greatest gift of all.

I put out seed for the morning sparrows,
watch them hopping, while I make
my cup of tea, because
this is what the living do; we have
our rituals, our small comforts,
our ways of coping, our day after day
of sameness, moving us inexorably
to an unknown day up ahead.
Meanwhile, we remember
to cherish these small blessings,
this glorious ordinary, more special
than we know.

I remember
to be grateful for the gifts.

Yesterday I carried my brown bag
of groceries home from the CoOp.
The sun was so warm; two smiling friends
walked towards me. We stopped,
a careful ten feet apart, and chatted,
because the virus is still here,
wary and mutated.
We talked about our hair, which is long
and needed cutting even before
the virus. We stood there,
laughing in the sun, hands poking at our heads,
glad to have seen and spoken with other humans
on this sunny warm morning
in Clayoquot Sound.

The waves were big yesterday; the surfers
were happy. I walked to the big log and sat,
watched the breakers come rolling in,
felt my heart expand with the prayer I recite
every time I am there: thank you, thank you,
thank you, for this: for the gift of living here,
twice given, for the beauty,
for the many gifts I have been given.

This is what the living do: we remember.
On this beach, I once walked for miles and years
with an exuberant, big black wolf.
And now I live alone.
I visit the sea. I am still living,
less exuberantly, but no less gratefully.
I remember him.
I remember it all.

for  Ingrid at dVerse where the topic is gifts. I have been given so many, all my life. I am aging ever so gratefully. I adapted this poem from one written earlier during covid. But some of us seniors are still having to be careful, as the mutations are still about, and we are vulnerable.

13 comments:

  1. Beautiful words Sherry. I love your west coast beaches too. They really are heaven on earth. I feel your gratitude :)

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  2. Sounds like a nice morning, Sherry. Yes, we have "our rituals," similar but different. First off, my ritual is push the button for coffee to drip, I've made it last night, ready to drip. Second, I've been doing this for years in the teens more often than you (hint, I've been retired for 22 years). I use a cane when I walk away from the house, helps me to keep walking straight. So on, and so on, like yours but different. I would like a bigger dish of water and waves than the small lakes in all directions here.
    ..

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    1. Oops, just caught the sight of you, I think, using a cane in those pictures. It's for you, a "Me too."
      ..

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  3. This is what the living do: we remember

    Hank has great admiration for your writing, Sherry! You certainly put in a lot of thought to come up with a brilliant post. Your wordcraft is perfect as always.

    Hank

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  4. 'in my heart's home.
    The greatest gift of all.'

    - Your poem resonates deeply with me, Sherry. I am also so grateful to return to my heart's home. I think about it every day and count my blessings. I love the idea of growing old gratefully!

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  5. What peace. You must miss your companion though. I know I would xxx

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  6. Sherry - your imagery and gentle tone just pull me right into this piece! How beautiful...

    "less exuberantly, but no less gratefully."

    How lovely.

    ~David
    SkepticsKaddish.com

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  7. I know that you have ten years on me, Sherry, but I feel the same about ageing gratefully, but not necessarily gracefully, not when we still have so much to say, see and do. However, because of Covid, some of us must do it from the safety of home, ‘grateful for the waking’. I like the idea of a bed as a time capsule, where one can dream of the past. And I agree about the rituals and small comforts and blessings – they all add up.

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  8. This is what the living do. They live. Living is the gift. Such a precious poem. Loved every line. thanks for sharing.

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  9. This poem is an anthem for living each day and appreciating the gifts of the day no matter how big or small! Every night before I close my eyes and on each new day, I say thank you for the day.

    I love the reference of the dreamscape being a time capsule. For me that is what it is, visions of the past, present and future flash beneath my lids.

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  10. I especially like that you are living less exuberantly but not less gratefully. I also like the memory of the big black dog. And the meeting and conversation with a friend. You have shared much about your life in this poem, Sherry. A Good one!

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  11. The repetition of "this is what the living do" is uplifting. Now in my sixties and no longer working, I have found that "living" can simply mean taking a deep breath, pondering, soaking in nature, soaking in a moment that may have slipped past before. A beautiful piece of gratitude, Sherry. Nice to read you again. :)

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  12. Love it. It struck a chord with me. You wake up one day wondering how did time go so fast? One day you're 20, the next you're thinking about retirement.

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