Wednesday, September 1, 2021


            In these very elder years of mine, I hope I can be more like the ground beneath my feet, the earth that so quietly and steadily remains my loyal supporter. Wherever I am, the ground stays where it is, provides my underpinning, and keeps silent as it does its job, and I would like to do similarly. I would like to be the ‘ground’ for my wife and family and friends – a respectful, unpresuming supporter, someone who stays in the background but is always there as an advocate and ally. The word ‘humble’ comes from the Latin word ‘humus’, which means ‘earth’, and that’s what I want to be as I approach the start of my 80th year on earth – a modest supporter of all the life I have around me.  In Delycia’s garden, all the lovely flowers are rooted in the inconspicuous, silent soil, and I hope to be an inconspicuous and silent friend for everything around me. My pot of petunias needs my modest service of daily watering, and my family and friends need a similarly humble service from me – just being there to provide whatever might help them. I want to be the plain and simple ground beneath them – unobtrusive, but solid, strong, and deep, and always ready to securely support them as they walk through their lives. 


For him, comfort comes in a cup of tea,
or in talking with his wife, or when 
restful snow settles down on their small, 
nourishing  home. He knows comfort 
can be found on a bike that brings him 
up a heartening hill and settles to a stop 
for rest and for the wisdom that comes 
from stopping and seeing scenes as new 
as this moment, when you're reading 
this poem, pleased to be finding comfort, 
he hopes, in humble words that somehow 
spun down distant roads to him and 
stopped to rest on his computer screen 
for comfort for him and for you.  

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