When does this life, we have known,
Become a burden; not ours to own?

How do you write about
what you don't know?
Through observation of daily
contact and comments?
I have noted the comments,
"I don't know what I am doing."
Discussions are often started by
"Do you remember?" and then
a struggle, by me to call forth
an answer to that question.
A question from me, in return,
as I try to "pin down" who or what.
A wrong guess is accompanied by
a "No, No, No" and a waving of hands.
Sometimes, I am lucky, in my guess,
but mostly I am not. I do try
to use a process of elimination but
the asking of questions, by me, brings
a response of "I don't know:; I can't
remember." Frustrating for us both.
Every day brings a new adventure
in this our life's journey.

Here is a scene from long ago.
Owning a car, so you could go
To visit the relatives in clothes worn.
One's you knew, since they were born.
A great time, as a faded memory
Of what was and what will be.

The sunlight
spirals downward; caught
by the dust in the trees,
then burrows into the
piles of scattered leaves.
Life goes on, as Sun rays
spill toward the sheltered ground.
There is a golden silence
for the wind blows, not now.
It will resume in morning
hours, before the Rooster crows;.
Life is beautiful when you
hear the Songbird sing
about a song and ring
of light, from the Sun above
filled with warmth
and with love.