Quiet Wins

I’m promising her I’ll notice

The grains of sand
One by one falling away

The fog, that had cooled her head
Rolling back, uncool, after all

The once-silent roar
The power regained

Now since she’s picked up her mat

All About Beauty

Maybe when I’m old, then gone, they’ll talk boldly of me

Paint word pictures of the thought I gave, the care I took

Depict the lines on my face without failing the beauty in them

Knowing I’d want them to tell my whole story of success

All of it, and how, but for them, I’d have failed abjectly


As They fall
Or try to jump
Some refusing, debating gravity
Some letting go easily
I watch
I come close
I attend
To their this season’s stamina
To their next year’s rebirth
Early arrival
On time, or delayed
Let the Weather so decide