How I long for a tree-lined path
and a familiar shaggy four-legged companion
to shadow my less than steady footsteps.
The smell of evergreens and the chuckle
of running water as it smooths stones
that would stand in its way.
The anticipation of surprise at what
lies beyond the next bend, the heat of
sunlight too long withheld from surface of story.
Memory saved is good, but not as pleasant
as reality stored in fresh moments, collected
because I always knew, this day would come.
This day that tells me some things are now
behind me, forever past, nonredeemable
and only to be accepted with grace and gratitude.
On this day.
Elizabeth Crawford 11/18/2018