enough

Before kids, and later before they outnumbered us, we lived at the foot of a mountain in a small farmhouse beside a brook which each June gave rise to black flies of biblical proportions.

I learned then that if I woke at dawn, I could get out in the garden ahead of them which must be why the garden looked so hopeful this morning when I appeared on the front porch much earlier than I had in some time.

And I did pause there and smile at it, fondly, like one might nod toward a babe in arms, someone else’s arms, and then I got in my car and drove away—east toward new beginnings–to the rising sun suspended over the valley, cupping the fog; more present, but less productive than I once was, finally understanding or at least practicing that just this—this world waking—this light, this birdsong, this body, this breath—was enough.

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old men in cafes

For years, the women whittle away perfectly productive days in parks and cafes and street corners
with little ones at their knees
Grasping for food or love or the toy that has fallen
While they attempt to finish/speak/have a complete thought

And now they are all gone…

Replaced by aged men
Who fritter away entire mornings
Engaged in the ritual of companionship and conversation

While their female counterparts
similarly aged,
Practice yoga or Pilates
or run a campaign
or build a community center

Each balancing
what was lost
in the heat
of living