“just the way it is”

The river knows a winding song—  
It bends, it breaks, it slides along,  
Past rooted stones and fretted reeds,  
Unhurried, certain of its needs.

The maple wears a coat of flame  
In autumn’s hush, but feels no shame  
When winter strips its fire bare—  
It stands, and shivers, and lets the air  
Brush frozen fingers through its bark—  
A quiet life, no need for spark.

Each morning folds into the next,  
With coffee rings and crossword text,  
And children’s shoes beside the door,  
A basket brimming with before.

There’s laughter stitched in mid-day sun  
And old regrets that weigh a ton—  
Yet somehow, both refuse to leave,  
They’re patches we must learn to weave.

We ache and heal and dream and miss—  
It isn’t fair. It’s just the way it is.

So let the river ride its course,  
Let seasons come without remorse;  
Find beauty in what grows and goes—  
The ordinary, well, it knows  
How to be enough. How to forgive.  
How simply, softly, we must live.

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