Living the Aging Life

Life and death are very close.

They’re just a breath apart.

The diff’rence of a silence

and a pulsing, beating heart.

“There’ll be wind from the Pacific!

There’ll be rain! You’d best look out!

Thereill be widespread consternation,

so stock up!” the pundits shout.

But the weekend was quite quiet.

Bits of rain kept drizzling down.

Dim gray skies blocked the horizon.

Gloomy clouds kept dark the town.

It was just a Northwest weekend.

No excitement came in sight.

And TV prognosticators

 had a dull and quiet night.

A warm, soft, cuddly blanket

is a comfort when you’re blue.

Wrapping in a snuggly blanket

is the best thing you can do.

No one has one potato chip.

It simply can’t be done.

If you have one potato chip,

you’ll have another one.

Samantha’s last day

has come and gone.

Her gift of love

will carry us on.

The oceans brewing up a storm.

We’ll batten down the hatches.

We’ll get out candles, logs, and quilts

and find the kitchen matches.

We’ll set out cookies, cheese, and bread

that we can eat curled up in bed.

We’re set with poise and cool aplomb

if it’s another “cyclone bomb.”

Our Samantha’s feerly poorly.

Seeks the warmth.  Avoids the cold.

Barely lifts her head for petting.

Our Samantha’s growing old.

A bomb cyclone came roaring through.

A trail of devastation.

For most, an inconvenience.

For some, a ruination.

Trees are down.  There’s power out.

Road closures from the storm.

But in my house, the heat is on,

and I am toasty warm.

The wind is blowing leaves in piles.

The piles are always changing.

As soon as leaves heap up in piles

the wind starts re-arranging.

The future is waiting.

This darkness must pass.

Hope trembles among us.

These troubles won’t last.