Vapor Trails And No Regrets Poem by Alexander Beebe

Like a thousand mornings behind him,
he awakens just moments before
the sun breaks over the ridge.
After an uphill climb to the edge
of his concave bed, he slides
his achy legs off the side and sits up
with a grunt.

His now silent mornings are deafening with
the absence of her voice. After her passing he
thought he would be close behind.
Five years to the day remind him otherwise.
He stares at the floor as his mind momentarily
brings her back. He regains his focus, rubs his legs
to get the blood flowing and begins another day.

His since of mortality accompanies
him across the cold wooden floor.
He doesn't complain; the pain lets him
know he's still alive, alive to make a
difference for at least another day.

What she taught him is that kindness and
compassion should be seeded with every
opportunity afforded. Something as benign
as a smile, an attentive ear or enthusiastic "howdy"
could be a gift for someone whose burden is far
greater than his own.

A rancher his entire life, but planting seeds
is also his calling. A debt he owes to her, for she
was the teacher and tamer of a man with
a less compassionate upbringing.

Left to finish is earthly journey without her,
he does not confuse his loneness with regret.
She always reminded him that the road to regret
is less traveled if ones moral compass stays true.

Equipped with this understanding, he embraces
another cold morning slightly lit from the
eastern orange glow. His path through
the freshly fallen snow is marked by
his lungs exhaustive vapor trail.

Although he has men to do what is vocation requires,
he knows his routine is the mortar that prolongs
what time he has left. He does not take any day
for granted, but rather a gift; a gift from God who
somehow saw potential in him and blessed him
with his very own angle so many years ago.