Most of the time
Time itself slips by like a fish between your hands
In a cold mountain stream;
Lately itís been more like the water itself.

The watering of late bloomers like ourselves
Is not like the gentle rhythm of a garden sprinkler;
More the violent drop of a Texan spring thunderstorm,
Refreshing and overwhelming, the ground soaked with the
moisture of Life.

My life has been raining numbers and details as of late;
I get smiles and sympathy from those who
Have been caught in the cloudburst before
As I feel it running through my thinning hair
I wonder if they felt it soak into full, thick locks
Or if it was lost before the front passed…

And it does move on, and life happens,
And moments linger, and things grow;
This is a good time to be alive.