photo: Botanical Garden, Nelson, a duck projects itself into the light and its murky reflection attracts attention until it goes back into the shadow of the pond.
There she was, the old lady I would become, I said to myself, as I saw her every morning, resolved to walk about town with her shopping bag. She was there, then one day she wasn’t.
One day at a time
in the others’ beauty
at the host’s table
mealtime
Don’t look at me
I don’t have a voice
but the wind was gentle
hardly a wind
maybe a breeze
that tamed the sun
lengthened time
stretched, thickened,
behind my wings
*posted first in November 2020
Then you will sit down
in the resting area
and you will be moved
when reaching the letter o
marveling over the words
then close the story drawer
before your bones crumble 
It was one of those days when being a duck would have seemed enough, because then I would have seen where the road was leading.