“Five to seven days,” says the park ranger,
a time for peak foliage,
autumn leaves in their nova.
So brief…so limited…
like a Monarch’s sole migration,
or a sunset lost at sea,
or my daughter’s first breath,
her tiny fist held in my grasp.
Still…
five to seven days, repeated
season after season,
eon after eon,
like Monarchs over virgin continents,
sunsets on primordial waves,
or the cry of the human species
from a cradle endlessly rocking.
“Five to seven days,” I whisper to myself.
So brief, yet eternal,
like my life…
like yours.
In memory of Linda Evans, who died far too early of brain cancer on the morning of Thursday, November 9, 2017 – Requiescat in Pace
Reflections on the Journey 