Months

The months fly past,
each with its own essence,
its own meanings and memories
gathered from all the years
on this journey
around and around the sun.

I say good-bye to a month
and in no time at all,
here it comes again-
March, with its hint of hope,
June, with its joyful abundance,
September, with its bittersweet edges of brown,
January, with its promise of solitude,
a slower pace, and snow.

Each is a subtle reminder that
although the seasons cycle,
my life is linear.
With every revolution,
I get a little older.
This has always been true
but it is now evidenced by lines in the mirror,
stiffness in the bones.

I am much more inclined now
to set down what keeps me busy,
to stand up
and move toward the window,
to take in the beauty of the scenery
as it rolls by-
the fields and trees,
the rivers and hills.
I have often failed to notice them,
assuming that I’d have time later.
But later is now,
and now is the perfect time
to pay attention.

By Maria Brady-Smith
Photo by Mike Smith