That In Between Place

One of those January days, one of those so-so, even-steven,
calm days and that’s good. I’ve had too many of the other. I am at calm
sails and I like that. I am floating, anchor down though. I am a hawk floating
on the thermals, the wind is enough, the wind is enough. I am neither young
or old; I am at that middle place the un-measurable place. Not in the running
but not out of the running; the mystery age that keeps me guessing.

If I listen to the voices; too young for that, too old
for that; who is to measure; who knows me more than I know myself? No one.
I don’t listen to them, I don’t heed their warnings, I don’t worry, I don’t
fret. I walk taking firm steps, not tentative steps, I don’t shy away and
I don’t reach.

I allow for imperfections, but not all the time forever.
I don’t expect much from people but I don’t give much either. I will extend
myself again but not at this time. I will rest in this place that is so
new to me and I will leave, but not one moment too soon, not one moment
too late.

Camilla P.
2005