Middle Ages by Heidi Robertson

Middle age Reunions got me thinking…..

Middle Ages by Heidi Robertson

Somewhere between childhood and elderly

both known and unknown rolled up in one

in a kind of scary twighlight zone

I’m Crusading

Middle age

Once an empty canvass

Finger painted pink and blue, and green

Becomes a smeared convergance of muted brown

Far and farther

Near and nearer

strokes improving, then removing the longer I am living

A projection and reflection

Remotely reel to reeling, rewinding scenery

Frame for frame

from finished back to story boards

And me the artist talking, walking backwards

Sidewalk chalking

Funny strange timelines.

In childhood the sky the limit

And I was in it glorying discovery

Grown ups gifting to me

Then suddenly I’m fiftying and…

Middle age costs

Filling days with maintenance, habits and prescriptions

Fewer adventures

Cuteness and newness worn off

Producing a student hardpressed to find teachers who will teach her

Teaching self a shelf life

Paying for privileges, audiences, friends

Tarnished brassware before a great Tarshish,

“May he live forever”

grownups roam the earth sentencing death

few Presidential pardons

less forgiveness, fewer hugs, greater needs

for want…

the world needs more dispensing of Mercy, love, and empathy

than acquisitions and travel plans to…

“Where is home?”

I feel I know but can’t remember

My brain was once an empty slate theory

Has now become an etch a sketch conspiracy

on the fence

in theories and in memories of rememberances

Frustrated day to day

a million mini strokes and shaken up

relearning everything again and again

Allowing endless childhood firsts to spin

begin again…

And yet, at times, already

I feel predisposed to this forgetting

in never having gotten early lessons

In middle age more difficult to find a loving mentor

who can see the beautiful in me and look past ACT II scenery

Rejoice when just that kind of someone comes along consenting

Feels I’m mostly renting

a blessed mortgage when I am in your home

in such a kingdom and a castle of enchanting keys

Bliss replaces hastles

And I am shown the whats and hows

If only I Believe

in artfully creating my own version of


And so to celebration!

Middle age, a world awaiting creation

a half time show, a stage, an intermission

A renaissance, redefinition toward a richer more free self

An unfolding,

post cacooning morning and adorning of

bejeweled treasures

In reliquary

I choose this middle age abundance

uncage my self and soul to what is young

and fun-damentally increasing

give permission to create and play and splash in paint

because I can and it tastes peach sweet

Sweeter than apple cider remedies

without amenities

So in these years I am reliving and rewriting

regifting, reuniting in deciding who and what I wish to be

and who I’ll spend my time with

Not just the person I was made to see in factory made mirrors


to planting Aslan’s exquisite silver fruit

whose apples promise juicy juice and healing


to feeling beings.

It seems I can go on in this imagining.


About hrobertson2013

“Each man ( and mermaid) will be like a shelter from the wind and a refuge from the storm, like streams of water in the desert and the shadow of a great rock in a thirsty land”. Isa 32:2 NIV Warning: The author of this blog is not an ordinary individual. Even Mermaids need a rest from all that's real and grown up. Welcome to the wonder of blog. Come be audience to all that's wet and wild in her stories, poems and thoughts. Instructor by day, super hero by night, and mystical mermaid by summer. Whenever she has the fortune of diving into a pond, reservoir, or mountain waterfall, you'll find her there swimming, and singing songs of life.
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