I'M EIGHTY

It happened a few weeks ago. Okay, I look the same as I did the last day I was seventy-nine, but I don’t feel the same.

Not at all.

It’s big and sobering moment, the awakening that birthday morning. The seventies were good to me, one of the best decades of my life, actually. I felt fit and energetic, published four books and a number of poems, some of which received awards, and was lucky enough to get many fellowships to residencies that gave me precious time to write and reflect.

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MOTHERS of UVALDE

I am surrounded with beauty, here at the beach. Birds trill, hydrangeas are beginning to bloom as peonies and rhododendrons surrender their brilliant petals, sand and sea are everywhere, and our small cottage allows a simplicity of living that is not possible at home.

It’s pretty wonderful, and I am grateful for the respite.

But it’s impossible to get away from the news. And as I have written here many times, I choose not to, as I believe it’s crucial that I/we bear witness to the travesties and injustices in this unsettled world, even if we can do nothing about them.

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