Rituals

Early in the morning, we drink coffee.
We talk. Longer than most.

At night, we gather again.
A glass of wine.
In Spring, we sit on the porch.
In winter, at the kitchen table.

Simple rituals.
You barely notice them
until they are gone,
or threatened.

And suddenly you recall anew
their power, and purpose,
the simple things that hold our life
and make them whole.

About this poem

Earlier today my wife and I were talking about simple things like how we sit and talk over coffee early in the morning. And how much we miss it when life intervenes, and how much precious those simple things have become since my cancer battle.

It’s true. I treasure them, even more.

Tom