How strange it is to be
the oldest one present,
to listen to the stories of the
young, remembering my own
lack of understanding.
I love being with young people,
yet it is also good to be
with someone my own age, too.
Our talk is of things the young
can not yet comprehend. Our
conversations are filled with
silent moments as we let
ourselves savor the cup of tea,
a sweet memory, or recall a sad
time, no longer filled with pain.
We rock our chairs across the
passage of time, enjoying each
other without expectations…just
old friends sharing life stories
in a garden filled with
flowers and love.