Even though

Even though she is well into her cronehood,

now that it is full blown spring

                with birds of all kinds waking up at 4:30 in the morning

                and the daffodils fading and tulips taking their place

                and the lilacs just breaking her heart with their tiny lavender blue flowers

                and, oh my god, their fragrance!

she finds it hard to remember and believe in Winter.

As she moves around the kitchen in the very early, still dark morning

                with the birds outside the window in raucous, noisy celebration of the coming dawn

                and the cats fed their special, early morning canned food,

she realizes that she has a great life.

She washes and puts away the custard cups with their little lids.

She used them yesterday to take sweet, pale yellow custard

to the women in her writing class. 

The eggs for the custard came from her own lovely hens

and the yolks were a stunning orange work of hen art. 

She is inordinately grateful for the heavy glass custard cups and the little lids

and the hens who give their eggs for the custard,

and the elderly, old lady cats who live with her. 

What a privilege to share her home with people of other species 

and to be able to afford to well care for these creatures.

Today she understands why old people move slowly.

Every joint hurts them and they move very consciously to avoid the pain.

And even though she can scarcely believe in old age for herself,

she feels it moving in.

But she appreciates the gifts it brings as well.

She doesn’t worry much any more about how she is perceived.

She knows that she knows many things just from having hung around for so long.

She trusts what she knows.

Yet, even now, when spring comes full blown,

she finds it hard to remember and believe in Winter.

Veda for The Poplar Grove Muse