fifty nine

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Me. The youngest in eight kids. I'm quickly heading into that strange old world of sixty. Amazing and crazy. A fun house exhibit? The mirror somehow twisted? What did I get done this year? Squash burned up in the arid garden. Poetry written. Tomatoes almost raised themselves but survived to give us fruit. Sunflowers lived and now feed wild birds. I drove hubby and I over the mountains to a poetry reading. Daughter helped me publish a sweet chapbook and listed it on Amazon. Mom rode back with us and remains with us so I am a caregiver now. I answered an ad. We adopted Peter burro. We said goodbye to Godiva kitty and hello to Beau Teak kitty. I wrote more poetry. I stared up at the skies, shared sunrises and sunsets and full moons with Mom and dark. Gads it gets dark here! Fifty nine has been a pretty good year. Lots of hot cocoa. A 2.5 mile walk around Lake Padden. More poetry scribbles. Started maundering into another short story. Haven't wandered in too far but have not given up. We finished fencing our three acres. Weeded some. Eased further out of the notion of anything being tidy all at the same time. Watered fruit trees. Made pie and applesauce. Shared home tomatoes with Mom. Poetry without rhyme butted in again. I like the again part. Met a horse lady and her horses. Thinking about the possibility of hoisting up into the saddle yeah again. Slammed spine and sciatica and I want to shiver from up there. Oh yeah. Up there. At a walk, please if we move at all, horse.