It is the sweet, simple things of life which are the real ones after all.
Laura Ingalls Wilder
(a tiny sweet begonia blossom / Julie Cook / 2014)
Taking stock of what was,
melancholy and nostalgic,
do we count our treasures?
Looking back on a life long lived,
tired and weary,
can we hold our possessions in open arms?
Time no longer kind,
spent and gone,
is it who we know or who’ve known which matters most?
Complicated, overwhelming, excessive
No time, too busy, maybe later
What does any of it mean now?
Can we rewind, return, renew
The chances come and chances go
Time begs to begin again
Take it while you can
Hold on to it longer,
to all that mattes most
When everything was simple
When time never mattered
When less was happily more
When life was sweet
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