Fruit skins
We grow older, contemplative,
like fruit, its skin ageing;
not withering but toughening
from the inside out.
We know our pressure points,
the lines drawn deeper;
what we do not like,
what we used to love.
We are as the sky turns
from dawn to striking dusk,
yellow-red-orange shine.
Starlight lends us sight.
Our memories grow so full
we forget names & nouns;
time begins to run together,
thoughts a patchwork quilt.
We take a bite of the apple
and it still tastes just the same.
Copyright Vickie Johnstone, February 4, 2021
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