One more to add to the collection
Piled up in stacks
of memories ,
good, bad, indifferent.
They loom large like a hoarders playground..
Teetering on the edge of remembrance,
Akin to a child arcing on the up curve of a swing in motion all joy and suspense...
The oldest of days
So compressed and worn they have become mere scraps
Postcards withe messages written
In ink faded, jaded
Like ether riding a zephyr they pass through your mind to tiny whirlwinds from days left behind.
This day different from any other, as are they al, closes now awaiting it's
place upon a pile
All so tall now
It was a gooday another one of love, laughter action and rest, commonplace by many standards..
But we have learnt
to take each day and polish it like gem.
And accept it as a blessing ..
Before resting
in order to walk
into yet another day
Been a minute peoples , a bit rusty but here is my first one in a while