on growing older

I like being older —am into my Eighties now;
so much more peaceful
so much clearer about what I know and still have to learn
so much easier to be quiet, and watch.
And so may wondrous things to think about —
new discoveries every day.
Sadly, there’s a lot I’m now unable to undertake,
but on the other hand what a lot I’ve gained.
It is autumn (I mean literally!)
and along one nearby street the Maples are glowing red
while nearby, other trees are shimmering bright gold;
I live beside still waters, rippling gently
in the warm wind, carrying small boats to distant places;
there are many people passing by,
speaking various languages —I love that
amazing tangle of sounds and intonations
all meaning something to someone —
and sometimes to me, who rejoice in all the variety.
The people too are a delight, in all their quirky differences,
and especially the small children, still precariously perched
in a world of long legs and distant voices —
sometimes we remember to bend down and meet their serious stare
at first a thoughtful gazing, eyes to eyes,
until acceptance melts into a smile —
and this is what I grew old for:
at the still centre of the turning world (who said that?)
two people meet, and history pauses, before spinning onwards.
I watch for these encounters — and when they come,
all is well, and all shall be well
or something like that.
No problem growing older.