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The Promise

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Nyla just crawled up onto the couch to snuggle up close and lay next to me.
She knows I love her.  And I know she loves me too.

And for the first time in my life, I’m settling into this.

Not Nyla’s love.
That’s not what I mean.

I’m settling into the subtlety–the crevices–the nuances of life.

I’m dreaming in softer hues.  In lighter contrast.
Through pastel veins of time passing.
I’m sinking into the little things–
That I used to let slip by.

I no longer think big is better
Or that every moment needs an agenda.

I’m satisfied with here and now.
With sherbet skies at sunset.
The grass turning brown, then dying.
Washed up purple chalk lines on sidewalks
And the roar of motorcycles at midnight.

I turn my cheek towards aging.
I glance quietly at the horizon of my life.

And when I rest my palm on the space below my naval
I inherit all the wisdom-

From the lost moments of my ancestors,
To the promise of new life.

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