Miles To Go

As I cross over the borderline of my mid fifties into the hinterland beyond, what will I find? I have never, until this moment had the feeling that I was old. In my mind I've been forty for fifteen years, only to wake up one day having entered foreign country. Like a sleeping passenger on a train, having crossed a border in the night. What rights do I still have? What are the bylaws of this land? Do I still get to dance around the house in my underwear? Do I get to be happy? Will I be valued? 

I don't know what's come over me, I've been writing poetry lately. I was always the child in my family who pleaded for another story, who lay awake in my bed, who crept to the bottom of the stairs to hear the grown ups talk. No wonder I had nightmares when I finally fell asleep. And so it is now. I'm not ready for it to be bedtime yet. Tell me another story. 

You're only as old as you feel, they always say. Inside there's a child wandering around. On the outside, my knees creak and my body grows weary sooner than I think it should. There are crowns on my teeth and battle scars abound from surgeries and accidents, accumulated over many a year. But inside, there's a child wandering around. 

Have I done all I came to do? Well, that's the question isn't it? Some I've known have done a lot and gone out early, in a blaze of glory, like shooting stars. Not me, though. I've only just now started writing poetry. A late bloomer so to speak. My life's accomplishments seem small compared to some. There's music still inside. 

Robert Frost said it best. I've miles to go before I sleep. And promises to keep. As new descendents come along, I find myself once again sitting on the floor, playing. The toothless smiles of babies, is there any greater joy? The little ones, they know the secret. That time is just a concept. They wonder not what their purpose is. Except to live and grow and cry and laugh.

What can I learn from them, these little messengers? That time is just a concept. It's true. And if you're at the crawling stage, then crawl, and when you're on your feet and get a chance to run, run like the wind. And laugh, and sometimes cry. But not for long. There's too much life to be lived. A band-aid, a kiss, and a cookie go a long way. That's for sure. 

And so these things I ponder as I find myself in this new land. Years ago, when I took a cruise, I found myself quite happily the youngest one on board, or nearly. A veritable fountain of youth it was. But I was, by far not the liveliest, and by far not the one laughing the hardest or the loudest, or dancing the longest into the night. 

What can I learn from them, these messengers from the other end of the spectrum? Writer Gay Talese, 77 this year, says he dresses up every day, not because he goes to work in his writer's garret, but just to say, “I'm alive today!” Hooray. Not a bad idea that. “Grandpa wore his suit to dinner nearly every day, no particular reason, he just dressed that way.” - John Prine. Maybe now we know why. 

There's a child inside wandering around. I doubt I'm alone in this. Because, as I have paused, as I am doing now, realizing I am not forty but fifty-six, before that, not twenty-seven but forty, before that, not sixteen but twenty-seven, the same thing has happened. I've adjusted. And learned to live life again. And whenever I take the time to compare notes, I find that others feel the same way too. There's a child wandering around inside with miles to go and promises to keep. 

© M.E. Rollins

Fall

The angle of the sun is lower in the sky which brings a change to the quality of light that says it's Fall. The shadows on the ground are noticeably longer and the number of hours of daylight are noticeably shorter. The Autumn equinox is still two weeks away but the last of the summer visitors have come and gone with Labor Day and the kids are back in school. There's definitely a different feeling now, as summer tips its hat to the town of Friday Harbor. 

It's been a mere fifteen weeks since Memorial Day. The bookends of Summer, these two holidays. And this place, with its more northerly latitude, responds to the dates on the calendar with precision. Further south, September stretches out summer like a rubber band. But here, the leaves are changing color and there's a nip in the air as if a conductor has taken out a pocket watch and waved to the engineer it's time that the train of this season leaves the station. An improper metaphor for life on a small island. 

Let's think about boats instead. Even the color of the water churned up by the engines of the ferry boats plays along. It's a greener green than it was last week. The water shimmers in the bay as the ferry pauses in the distance before taking off in the direction of the mainland. The Sidney boat has made its short stop here and is back on its way again. The visitors on deck are quieter. A little boy waves goodbye to us as we stand on the dock. Fall is here and they're going home. It's late evening now and time to walk back home ourselves. 

The dock is vacant and the happy chatter of voices on the boats below has been blown gently away. Gone with the summer breeze. The air is crisp as Fergie and I walk up from the observation dock past a group of kids shrimping on the floating dock below us, their net dipping into the water, the bottom of their bucket filling with the gray brown creatures. "We've got a lot!" They say as we pass by. Fergie barks as if to say, "This is our dock, you interlopers." They laugh and go back to their shrimping. 

Winter's on its way, but first there's Fall. Fall in a small town that welcomes visitors all summer means potlucks and cozying in. Costume contests at Halloween and community dinner at Thanksgiving. Fergie and I’ve been here going on a year, the hour hand on the clock of the year is coming round to where it was when we started, just past ten o’clock. It's quarter past eight and when the clock strikes nine, Fall will be in full swing. Headed towards midnight, the darkest time of the year, but also the lightest. 

Soon Spring Street will be decorated with twinkle lights and the street lamps will be coming on as dinner time approaches. But for now, it's Fall. And best to savor this time. To let the season have its due. Winter will be here soon enough with its wind and rain and maybe even snow. The sun is lower in the sky and the shadows are growing noticeably longer. There’s a nip in the air and the leaves are changing color. In this place with its northerly latitude. 

© M.E. Rollins