At the homestead

At the homestead
all is familiar- my baby picture
my sister’s and our family photos
as we all grow and grow
My son’s artwork scribbles
My niece and nephew show
time pass through off season
holiday artwork
curated by little hands
In the barn a tricycle
wears cobwebs and hay dust
I dream about when I will clean it
scooping grain for the pony
all are aging
Autumn light of a waxing three quarter moon
shines the dogs’ path and fig trees
and peach and apple that sometimes promise
depending on the year and the deer
the gravel crunch and purple martin houses
and oh the constellations missing from my city
all is the same
all is love
but the tilt is different this week
it is not the fading light
nor the angle at which birds fly
the orbit I sense is pressing a new gravity
one of discomfort and palpable worry
the weight of our era
is shifting reality and in my evening walk
not even home feels home
This morning a momentum to stay and build
to protect and nourish courses through
and I am grateful for renewed hope in
that I can still stand upright.