My ode to musings over my lifespan…
I am childhood running with long legs and bare feet, milking blooms from evening honeysuckle fragrant and sweet.
I am the sound of cicadas a lullaby at nightfall. A bright twinkling star against a dark summer sky.
I am restless and reshaping the age of adolescent pain!
I am a rose in bloom, an unsettling sense of self, provoking attention unholy, both powerful, and, shamefaced.
I am Indian summer, girlhood in flight, my rite of passage into womenhood a sunrise not to celebrate.
I am women matured, with deep-seated wounds, journeys learned the hard way, baptized by fire.
I am the remains of the journey that now must be gathered a new rite of passage is on the horizon.
I am now the age that bought about the change, stronger from the fire, a gentler sense of self.
I am the splendor of the rose a sunrise to celebrate grieving not for the past of a life more young…
_ Barbara Miller