Two Signs I’m on the Path

My new thought is, I’m ordinary. An everyday
mernie, another bozo on the bus.

My father Jack predicted
something similar when I was born
and it looked like I’d survive.

Plus, I’ve crossed the skunk line;
I’m old; it doesn’t matter what happens to me now.
I can run into burning buildings.

But last Saturday, on my 5 km around
the Botanical Gardens, at the bottom
of Heartbreak, the top of the hill looked steep
and far away. Two women walked down,
holding hands. We passed each other. The closer one,
wind catching her sari’s sleeves behind her,
said, “You are viewing with rose-coloured glasses.”

And down from the top
came the hill, running
to meet me.