I implore you not to judge
me by my failings of youth,
but by my humble good
deeds and achievements
acquired through the
wisdoms of maturity
gained.

Maturation is a process.
We are born into ignorance
and can but strive eventually
to overcome it.

In the cold dreary, wet,
months of each year the
predominant irritating
"Craw-craw" raucous
calls of crows are nearly
the only bird voices to be
heard. The instigators,
Provocateurs of disruption.

The logical, less hardy
and beautiful birds all
gone south for the winter,
taking their inoffensive
lovely and melodic song
voices with them.
I eagerly await their return.

For most of my life
I yearned for the simple
independence of a feline
existence, a house cat
that spends more time
outside exploring and
roaming, then inside
snoring.

Preening and self-cleaning,
eating human food offerings
at will or not, everything on
my terms having my way with
the humans, they being such easy
creatures to bamboozle and train.

No matter how much I
ignore them, hiss or scratch
they treat me like some highly
revered object. A King perhaps?

Now that I am older and wiser
my feline ambitions have been
largely met. Being left mostly
alone with lots of cat naps, all
on my fully autonomous terms
and conditions. Roaming sparingly,
preferring the inside comforts of
home over the cold wet outside.

Please wake me if you have
any questions. But understand
I may not answer as I might be
napping. Or choose too merely
ignore you, as that is what cats
can and often do. And even at
times we humans may too.

Wisdom is knowing what you need
and what you don't need without
doubt or regret, with no requirement
to apologize to anyone for this hard
earned understanding with yourself.

You can lead a fool to reason,
but you cannot make him think.

Oh, The If's
If I were only half
the man I used to be,
I would be a whole
lot better off.

One of the few benefits of my  
mature age is the frequent once
upon a time conjured up shared
family memories, mused and
relived with my only brother.

Childish petty differences and
feelings of competition long ago
dead, replaced by the intimacy
of mutual respect and brotherhood.

Colorful recollections of our old
homestead, with all it's good hiding
places, the towering oak in the front
yard with its huge limbs for climbing,
the tire swing on a rope, and the time
I fell out of it and broke my ribs.

The tree house retreat we banged
together with scrap lumber, that
collapsed in the big storm of '57.
The first girls we both kissed and
all the ones we missed.

Our shaded front porch, mom's cold
lemonade on hot summer days, old
dog Dusty, what a good boy he was.
How he would fetch anything we tossed,
for as long as we would throw it.

Whispered bedroom secrets in the still of
night that only we two knew and shared.
Brussels sprouts clandestinely passed to
old Dusty under the dinner table, that mom
never appeared to notice. But the old man
knew, never said a word. As a kid he must
have had a good old dog too, or perhaps he
also hated Brussel sprouts.

Now living 600 miles apart, it is frequent
phone calls at all hours, with new/old
recollection to share, smile and even shed
a tear or two over, things only we are privy
to, for as long as we are both still living with
the ability to recall and remember.