a little bit of a story

there was a rose sitting in the window sill,

it dried a little each day in the sun,

the smooth petals fastened into wrinkles,

like skin on your face with the summer sun,

the wrinkles are lines becoming roads on a map,

to trace back each step we took,

so that when we have come far away from where we began,

we can be confident where we stand

looking around at all we can grasp in our hands