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Even If We Are Afraid

At age nine, we know what we want. We roam in the fields, climb trees, steal a few cherries, or apricots when ripe. We love the sky. We draw houses, trees. We know that we want to be ourselves when grown, or an architect, a dancers or singer. We outrun the boys. We know what it is to be free. We bold – protect the weak, adore those ignored, othered, invisible…

we grow winged….


Then comes life with all its struggles, storms, temptations, learning, waves, guides, wonders, good-byes, celebrations, loneliness, transformations. When old, suddenly we know we’ve lived a very full – truly wonder-full – life. Surprise. We belong to ourselves again. Awe. Together with the young girl, still agile we dance on tree limbs, swing high into the canopy…

stretch our limbs….


Many-armed we bend the bow, sow the seeds, teach, prune, write, cook, pray, embrace. We know that our scars and wrinkles attract hummingbirds, butterflies, owls, hawks, moths. With every word and every step, our deepened voice and lithe feet are leaving behind feathers… to be picked up by lost grateful strangers…

in search of guidance and rooted gold dust beingness….

Today in remembrance – exactly two years ago, 
the majestic old Live Oak, leaning, deep cracks in trunk, was ready to leave….


See more stills of me dancing at age 70 for a last time in Uncle Oak's arms:




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