With time, even as the new
Continues to be born in us,
That which has been around a while
Starts fraying at the edges; holes emerge
In our carefully constructed vision of the world.
But imperfections have a beauty of their own,
Adding a texture and a richness to our thoughts;
A complexity and depth one rarely finds in youth,
And so we celebrate emerging openness,
Though it must also serve
As a harbinger of endings; a reminder
That the full-fruitedness of autumn
Will lead to harvest,
And the ground in which we’re planted
Will be plowed under to make way for the new.
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