Our children are saying to us “What does it matter if this person is a boy or a girl? Who cares? A person is a person.” My daughter said it to me. And my friend’s daughter (ten years older) said it to her. In their generation, the garden is more important than the appearance of individual plants. After all, weren’t we all sprung from the same dark womb?
The thing is this. We have scars like pale tiger stripes caging our souls, intermittently blinding us to the view. And we carry burdens, bending us to the grizzled matrix of the world. Our daisy eyes, their sparkling purple darkness, long ago closed for sleep, never again to open in wonder just because another day arrived. When you have seen a few thousand dawns, it’s easy to lose their magic in a handbag or let it slide away unheeded behind a couch. I put on my glasses and missed a decade, or so it seems.
But humanity’s body is full of regenerating cells. We are growing older as a species, and in the mirror, our reflection will continue to change. If we look about with eyes untrained by our own gaudy woes, we might see that the bones of it are here… a new being, diaphanous and strange to us.
my daughter opens her umbrella and I'm sprinkled with yesterday’s rain. truisms spin to face backwards
Written for Go Dog Go Cafe’s Wednesday Haibun Prompt “joy or hope” with Donna Matthews