Slow and deliberate are the days
Everything new and elastic and hopeful,
I told myself - to remember these insights
Save them for the middle years and reminisce
Use them but don’t abuse
The memories will serve me well
But are forgotten the next moment
As the smell of fresh cut grass distracts me
An opportunity lost will be found in due time
I say to my youthful self
But now past fifty
All is but a vacant dream or shadowy memory
As I struggle to remember the smell of fresh cut grass
This has been a long, cold winter
And spring feels like years away