Reality Insists.
A low stone wall frames the patio.
In Spring,
We fill a dozen pots with flowers
To set upon the wall.
Inpatiens, Dahlias, Begonias surrounding the summer.
Once filled,
The heavy clay pots refuse to turn –
Refuse to give the northern petals face time with the sun.
This year,
We bought three light pots.
They sit by the side of their sturdier neighbors.
The bees –
Though I am sure they have noticed –
I have overheard the discussion –
Still visit.
The dahlias –
Not defiant –
Perhaps indifferent –
Still bloom.
But no one –
Not even this gaudy butterfly who flirts with everyone –
Not even she –
Would mistake for terra-cotta,
These common plastic pots,
Painted orange.
Likewise,
No one on this beach
Would mistake for that sunlit girl,
That decades-ago girl –
No one would mistake for that girl –
Long-limbed like Diana,
This loose-skinned woman,
This thick-waisted woman,
Straw hair,
Painted gold.
- Posted in: Aging ♦ Beauty ♦ Writing
- Tagged: Dahlia, Diana, flowers, middle-aged, Poetry, Terracotta
notquiteold 
That was amazing. Honestly…amazing.
LikeLike
Thank you,Eileen. After two years of writing humor, I was hesitant to leave my comfort zone, but ready to try.
LikeLike
I so agree.
LikeLike
Beautiful! As are you…we are just too accustomed to think youth=beauty. That’s only one kind of beauty. Thanks for sharing this!
LikeLike
Awesome, moving, inspiring …
LikeLike
Thanks.
LikeLike
Lovely.
LikeLike
Thank you.
LikeLike
Awww!
LikeLike
After my last post about feeling great in my bikini, I figured I better at least acknowledge a bit of reality.
LikeLike
Nancy, you are very talented and a real beauty. You have brought joy and smiles to many people and now with your new shape and hair colour you make us believe we can do it too. Way to go!
LikeLike
I am not melancholy by nature. I will be laughing again tomorrow.
LikeLike
Beautifully written. Perhaps the dahlias, bees and butterflies are happy to have another pot to visit. In the glorious sunshine the composition of the pots matters little.
LikeLike
The dahlias are still beautiful, even if the container is a little questionable. Me too.
LikeLike
Do you know this story? We’re all itsy bitsy cracked pots. 🙂 Toni
The Parable of A Cracked Pot
Author Unknown
A water bearer in India had two large pots, each hung on each end of a pole which he carried across his neck. One of the pots had a crack in it, and while the other pot was perfect and always delivered a full portion of water at the end of the long walk from the stream to the master’s house,the cracked pot arrived only half full.
For a full two years this went on daily, with the bearer delivering only one and a half pots full of water to his master’s house. Of course, the perfect pot was proud of its accomplishments, perfect to the end for which it was made.
But the poor cracked pot was ashamed of its own imperfection, and miserable that what it had been made to do.
After two years of what it perceived to be a bitter failure, it spoke to the water bearer one day by the stream. “I am ashamed of myself, and I want to apologize to you.”
“Why?” asked the bearer. “What are you ashamed of?” “I have been able, for these past two years, to deliver only half my load because this crack in my side causes water to leak out all the way back to your master’s house. Because of my flaws,you have to do all of this work, and you don’t get full value from your efforts,” the pot said.
The water bearer felt sorry for the old cracked pot, and in his compassion he said, “As we return to the master’s house, I want you to notice the beautiful flowers along the path.”
Indeed, as they went up the hill, the old cracked pot took notice of the sun warming the beautiful wild flowers on the side of the path, and this cheered it up a bit.
But at the end of the trail, it still felt bad because it had leaked out half its load, and so again it apologized to the bearer for its failure. The bearer said to the pot, “Did you notice that there were flowers only on your side of the path, but not on the other pot’s side?
That’s because I have always known about your flaw, and I put it to good use. I planted flower seeds on your side of the path, and every day while we walk back from the stream, you’ve watered them. For two years I have been able to pick these beautiful flowers to decorate my master’s table. Without you being just the way you are, he would not have this beauty to grace his house.”
LikeLike
Lovely. Thanks for sharing.
LikeLike
Brave….and beautiful.
LikeLike
Thanks, Dianna.
LikeLike
Bravo!
LikeLike
thank you
LikeLike
Beautiful !!!
LikeLike
thank you
LikeLike
Lovely!!
LikeLike
thanks
LikeLike
Your back patio sounds inviting with all the lovely pots of flowers. Don’t they dry out fast? We have them too and one must be diligent and water them twice a day in nice weather.
Lovely picture of you, Nancy!
LikeLike
My husband waters the pots. Once a day usually, but twice if it is extremely hot. So worth it… (especially because he does it.) And thank you for the compliment on the photo… I take lots of selfies to get one where I look pretty and young… it was difficult but important to accept one where I look old.
LikeLike
I don’t know what that three-letter word means…I’m whispering because I hate not knowing…
LikeLike
You are courageous and beautiful. Never for one minute, not for an instant doubt this.
LikeLike
Thank you for the kind words.
LikeLike
It’s beautifully written.
LikeLike
Thanks.
LikeLike
…this lovely woman; lovely inside and out. But we women of a certain age are our own worst enemies and harshest critics, aren’t we?
LikeLike
I think I am usually pretty easy on myself. No one is kinder to me than me. But down deep …I so worry about being old.
LikeLike
Loved this.
LikeLike
Thank you
LikeLike
Orange is a lovely color, especially in summer, and especially at the beach, and the long legged beautiful girl is there too for all to see. She comes through in her laughter, her humor in writing, and in that teeny weeny bikini we I so envy.
LikeLike