Of an Age

Of an age

Friends, time, seasons
An age
All bud, ripen, fade
Drop
From the branches of life
That once supported them

And even those constants
Our lives
Flourish like the Blue Spruce outside my window
Change
Grow taller, branches longer
Alee the winds

Our lives unchanged it seems
As we look
inward
Avoiding the refection
Of age
In the mirror

We notice not the passing
of summer
Till frost turns the leaves gold
Then fall
About our feet

I wish
As I speed from age
to age
The world would pause for me to reflect
Upon my slower passage up the stairs
Wait for me to catch my breath
Breathe

Ponder where spring went
And my youth
Mother would say she was
Of an age
When elder statesmen and stars
Fade
And are then gone
Like shooting stars

There is not time it seems
In the moment
To taste the ripe fruit
Count our friends
of an age
Or measure the height of the trees
We planted so long ago

It has all changed
in a day
Friends and time come
and go
Season’s pass with increasing rapidity
And before I know
The snow blows
Again

(c) Jacqui Binford-Bell

About the Picture: Miner's Church on the Hill. In addition to my surreal canyons I enjoy painting churches. Old churches in the fall of their lives. Here in northern New Mexico there are all manner of old churches about from the early settlement of the Spanish and the pioneers that came here to mine or farm or ranch. This church is in Madrid, New Mexico and was built by the miners that went into shafts to take coal from the earth.