Walking a straight
line is a myth

A truth which grows
ever more apparent
as I approach sixty

Life is never so simple
Even the white lines
guiding us down the
road are broken

Solidifying only when
extra caution is required

It is tempting
to wear blinders
Attempt a straight
line to my destination

But there is so much I would miss

The rose-pink glow
bathing this very morning
in brilliant warmth

The crisp air
on my face as I
lower the window

Smiling as I snap
a quick photo of the
rosy pink sky-twice

Wishing I could
watch it fade away
before driving on

Driving on anyway
In awe of the sweet
warmth at my back

Relieved my path
is not a straight line
It never has been