Life’s Winter

Crone (Winter’s Knowing)

0111.2013

She wears the almanac of her face,

keeping records—

maps of familiarity,

delicate roads

where disappointment and joy

ride together,

ending at the shore of her heart,

which has raced

a matron’s marathon.

There is a protracted shortening—

of spine,

of endurance—

a frame slowly collapsing,

no longer able to hold

all the wisdom,

the words,

the purpose

she once laid out

like careful plans.

But time knows.

She is bursting with sleep

and quiet quartets.

Age doesn’t rebel or beg.

It won’t implore another’s time—

not even its own—

nor question

any journey.

It accepts,

without reservation,

the course

of that voyage.

m.c.f.

AI-generated conceptual visual ⁘ Edited in Photoshop ⁘ Inspired by my ongoing exploration of symbolic duality in traditional oil and mythic narrative ⁘ Created to accompany the poem ⁘ Not for sale