The ferryman is paddling my way,
but has not yet rounded the bend.
So far, I can't hear the singing,
the dip of the oars.
Not time yet.
Remember those years
when energy was inexhaustable?
When you could walk miles
along the shore, then miles back,
that big black wolf
grinning at your side?
I hobble now,
but my heart still lifts on eagle's wings,
my eyes blessing the water, the trees,
the sky, the harbour,
the blossoming cherry trees
in my front yard.
Grateful.
Grateful.
I never take anything for granted,
each peaceful day a gift, a blessing,
each smile, each kind word,
moving today gently into tomorrow.
Still here.
Still so glad to be here.
Bring me a blue sky,
a heron perched on a treetop.
Spring rain.
It will be enough.
The ferryman may be on his way.
But it's not time yet.
Not yet.
Inspired by "Two Months Before My 65th Birthday" by David James. And by a story my grandma told me about her friend, who had a near death experience and came back. She found herself crossing a desert, with a river ahead. She could hear eople paddling a boat, the oars dipping and lifting, the people singing. They were coming to get her. But then she came back. It wasn't her time yet. Not yet.
