A Change

It’s subtle, but the signs appear.

Cooler evenings. Dew on grass.

Leaves waving, a branch bending, colors changing.

The sky changes, the air thins, the sun weakens.

A season ending, a season beginning.

Missing the old, embracing the beauty of the new.

Like a raging toddler to a calmer kindergartener,

From clumsy puppy to a stately dog.

Miss the old, embrace the new.

From running swiftly, to aching muscles,

From fresh ideas to reminiscing.

dog on concrete road
Photo by Daniel Frank on Pexels.com

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From youth to old.

Miss the old, embrace the new.

An unfulfilled wish…

In case you never knew, I had desires to adopt a child. I went through the process with visions of providing a home for a needy little human. This never happened…the process got delayed by my lack of finger prints. And the end of that process was the beginning of my temporal insanity days.

Nobody knew my growing obsession with listening for cries as I passed a dumpster. Nobody knew how I swerved in traffic as my eyes scanned the highways for an abandoned child.

Never would I ever dream would come next. I began viewing adoption sites on-line. It’s quite easy to get lost in the faces of children in need. I even scanned the pictures of children of other countries. I even began to learn Russian. In case I could make a connection to a foreign child.

Though I’ve never told many of these desires, they existed. It’s okay now. Those times are over, and I got over my desire. Accepting what I could never have was a private difficulty. No one needed to know my unfulfilled wish. After all, I was blessed with three beautiful, intelligent children who I love dearly.

Melodious

I put the solo piano station on Pandora in order to progress through the pages of a novel, but instead of words, I envision alternate realities.

I’m a slender ballet dancer alone in the studio, practicing plies on the barre, but I could also just as passionately, be found in the lab, again alone, studying images of the brain in curious exploration.

I’m also an artist at work in the studio, again solo, lifting, smoothing, spreading and blending hues until they return to me colorful arrays.

More often than not, and to some, not as esteemed, the melodies conjure the memories. I’m giving baths, caressing a head, I’m reading while also enjoying the warmth of a small child pressing into my lap and in step with the tempo, I see the trio laughing, skipping, climbing and exploring.

I’m a mother.