Oddments

In search of story


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October 29.19

Age, some say,

is just a number,

inconvenient,

contrived encumber.

I shake my head

and must dissent;

age is real,

the past is spent.

In shingles curled,

in chimneys blackened,

in wood wind-sanded,

in facia slackened,

time’s signature

is boldly written,

and we are similarly

smitten.

Our mortar to dust,

our boards to splinter,

through many a summer

and many a winter,

we too show

the outward signs

of life’s erosions,

droops, declines.

But as parts unjoin,

fade and slip

arises still

proud workmanship.

And so with us

of youth bereft:

who we are

is what is left.

 

With thanks to photographer Mary Jo Bassett

and Conner Prairie Living History Museum, Fishers, IN.