Coming out of a fog
Finding my feet and voice yet again
Feeling my way home
These words, and the poem below capture layers of unknown realities all the way from what was supposed to be a post-Trump era, to living in an aging body still full of surprises. Here’s the poem as first published in March 2020.
Without a Flight Plan
Suspended in space and time
Where are we going?
Calm and mindful
In a holding pattern
Waiting to land
Every twenty-four hours
Drones in the sky
Specks of dust
In an ocean of dismay
Looking for home
© Elouise Renich Fraser, March 2020
Published in Without A Flight Plan, 2021, p. 45
I’m just back from a short morning walk. The sun is out, the heat wave has subsided for now. Summer school is over, and the school playground is blissfully quiet. I see only a handful of others out for a walk with their dogs. I’m walking with myself.
Walking or sitting, I feel the weight of what we call ‘old age.’ I now understand that being old means not having a flight plan.
I’m a diehard maker of lists/flight plans. I like checking off my lists. Lately, however, the lists have become weights. The kind I carry around from one day to the next because I didn’t do all those things, thanks to unpredictable turns of event or the weather or how well I did or did not sleep last night.
Old age is not for sissies. Do I have a plan now for each day? No, I do not, with a few exceptions:
- I will eat
- I will sleep as needed
- I will fill the birdseed feeders
- I will make sure the birdies and Smudge have fresh, clean water
- I will love D
Period, the end.
Well, except for one more thing. Copies of Without a Flight Plan are available at Amazon.com in various countries. I am also giving them away as requested and possible. However, if poetry isn’t your thing, I will not be offended. In fact, I will thank you for reading this far! Forgive me if I wander. I understand it’s allowed at this age.
© Elouise Renich Fraser, 12 August 2022
Photo of snow geese near Mount Baker, Washington, USA, found at correre.org