Truly moving.
I didn't have my glasses on....
Beneath The Sweater And The Skin
How many years of beauty do I have left?
she asks me.
How many more do you want?
Here. Here is 34. Here is 50.
When you are 80 years old
and your beauty rises in ways
your cells cannot even imagine now
and your wild bones grow luminous and ripe,
having carried the weight
of a passionate life.
When your hair is aflame
with winter
and you have decades of
learning and leaving and loving
sewn into
the corners of your eyes
and your children come home
to find their own history
in your face.
When you know what it feels like to fail
ferociously
and have gained the
capacity
to rise and rise and rise again.
When you can make your tea
on a quiet and ridiculously lonely afternoon
and still have a song in your heart
Queen owl wings beating
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ty
A pleasure
Thanks for sharing this, Danny. It is great. I’m glad to see a post from you, I was feeling a bit worried about your health.
I was a bit worried too, Robbie, but only when I was conscious….. 😛 😛 😛
Shame, a most unpleasant experience. My dad nearly died of sepsis a few years ago and Greg has also been very ill and hospitalised with this.
Not nice at all.