A Perfect Autumn Day

It had been a perfect Autumn day.

I think it was the colors, so vibrant they were startling. The warm sun cast a glow along the walking trail behind my apartment that made Crayola look boring.

Or it might have been the sounds. The birds were apparently trying out a new song. The creek was running high and joined the chorus. The crackling of fallen leaves under my feet provided the rhythm.

I had not taken a walk in quite a while. Since my Massive Heart Failure I am unsteady, short of breath and tire easily. But this day was different.

It was the sudden realization that this might be my last perfect Autumn day.  My health is deteriorating despite the best efforts of my medical team and my determination.  But I was not sad.

I was grateful.

There is something about a potential end date that makes even the simplest things important. Never to be forgotten. And so it was on this day that the sights, sounds and smells of late October were very special.

The Art Of Growing Old

Where is it written that

The sky must be blue?

Why can’t it be red,

Yellow or purple

Or some other hue?

Life is like this

I have come to think.

It’s a lovely sketch book

With all colors of ink.

We come to expect

To see what we know.

Then suddenly we find

Our palette must grow!

It’s strange

And it’s hard

To let go.

Now that I’m old

I feel sad and confused.

There are so many colors!

 Many I’ve never used!

It used to be simple

Knowing what I would see.

I liked it that way.

It was easy for me.

But now – it’s so different

With each day a new hue!

I don’t like all the colors!

I don’t like every view!!

How I wish

I could find

My old sketchbook!

I know there are some pages left .

But instead I must learn

There are new pages to turn.

I’m afraid of what I will see.

And I sadly realize

That as hard as I try

A great artist

I never will be.

Carole Leskin

October 3, 2023

  The Art Of Growing Old

Where is it written that

The sky must be blue?

Why can’t it be red,

Yellow or purple

Or even some other hue?

Life is like this

I have come to think.

It’s a lovely sketch book

With all colors of ink.

We come to expect

To see what we know.

Then suddenly we find

Our palette must grow.

It’s strange

And it’s hard

To let go.

Now that I’m old

I feel sad and confused.

There are so many colors

Many I’ve never used!

It used to be simple

Knowing what I would see.

I liked it that way.

It was easy for me.

But now – it’s so different

With each day a new hue!

I don’t like all the strange colors!

I don’t like every view!

How I wish

I could find

That old sketchbook!

I know

There are some pages left.

But instead I must learn

There are new pages to turn.

I’m afraid of what I will see.

And I sadly realize

That as hard as I try

A great artist

I never will be.

Carole Leskin

November 3^{, 2023}