Empowerment.
Allowing the 2-year old to pick her outfit.
The arc of life.
We start helpless, we end helpless.
When we start, we know no other way of being.
When we end, we sense what we’ve lost.
In a Buddhist sense we hold who we were in our hand,
the thistle-down we’ve known as our life.
We acknowledge that this is no longer who we are.
The down wafts upon the zephyr
Which wanders where it will
And plants its seeds in places never imagined.
We can cherish it, but it will never be ours again
Except in the photograph of memory
martinstrees 