Walk with me. Let us patrol the night strewn streets, The constellations of ancient meanings As clouds come and go. Walk with me. See Cassiopeia’s chair pointing north, And there the tip of the Drinking Gourd Leading some to freedom. Walk with me. The air is cold as December air should be; But then, so are you and the point Like Jupiter setting is lost. Walk with me. We cannot know the Polar drift or Equatorial swirl that Pulls our stars apart. Walk with me. We can only admire, consider and Wonder at all that is above Or you and I here below. Walk with me. The night is colder in late Fall’s grip, I need your little hand I do not want to slip. Walk with me.
As we get older, reflecting on the different “families” in our lives can be bittersweet. We have our birth family, our adult family, and then…if we are lucky, we have our married with children family. That too passes when the last car pulls out of the driveway after the last graduation. New strands of memory and bonding are constantly being created. All shall be well.