Penned Path

I suppose it is an inherent desire in all of us to be writers. We all long to re-write in some way our script of growing up. Today, on the anniversary of my father's passing, my mother having left this life earlier, I realize I have, at last, laid down the pen. Life's sun and weathering have gifted the sight of reflection. No need even to write "The End." Life continues, as do I, though no longer a role of daughter. There are some sunrises I wish the mountains would move and let me see. Some days the clouds are just to playful for my camera to see. And there are days when I am left breathless in awe of the wonder of life. The pen, laid down, opens both heart and eyes. I miss you Mama. I miss you Daddy. I bow in gratitude for the path that was penned.

What is Gone

A moment’s ponder  in the silence of what is gone,

Was it simply a release, a letting go

Perhaps a choice to take a different path.

The earth tremors when mountains are born

Yet softened quivers with the petal’s touch.

Release or choice, no matter really

The path awaits

I can see the mountains

The petals caress my feet.