A poem written on the day I turn forty-five,
after a month of exhausting myself with worry
over my son’s right ear.
At 45 years of age, I’ve noticed that
the journey is no longer
about getting somewhere.
Instead, I arrive to each day as it comes.
Here, I will stand as the aged tree with lost limbs:
always reaching, always grounding. Here,
I can both feel sunlight and offer shade.
How much is lost in translation?
How would it change things to know
the Great Teacher did not say,
Do not be afraid, but rather,
Embrace it all?
Crows do not seem to ask why
they’ve returned to the same rooftop.
Perhaps, however, they wonder
how the steeple will cast its shadow.
At 45 years of age, living with
openheartedness matters more
than tracking slippery happiness;
asking how seems more productive
than asking why.
Heidi Fettig Parton