Seniors & Aging

Senior expressions: ‘Wind,’ a poem by Frederick Su

In my life, I always return

to hear this song

play over and over.

A pianissimo

floating through tall cedars,

a trill of a piccolo among Douglas firs,

muffled drumbeats of boots on soft hemlock cones,

the creak of my pack and

a rustling on the underside of my existence.

Andante

out of the forest

and onto the green sward of meadows

I climb.

Seurat would have died for this,

the land ready – made pointillist

with lupine, pasqueflowers, and avalanche lilies

set against a cerulean sky.

And floating off the mountain,

above the glaciers,

the strong, clear notes of an alto sax.

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