Last week I reprinted a piece from Jean Reinhold, a fellow groupie in the Type Rider Google group. Today I want to share with you my own freewrite on the prompt, "Everyone knows…"

Everyone knows they are going to die, but no one believes it.

Everyone knows that bare feet on warm grass tickles the soul, but we forget to do it.

Everyone knows that calling mom on a nothing Wednesday afternoon would make her so happy, but who has the time?

Everyone knows the baby grows into a man before we can say, “shave-that-damn- moustache,” but why is it so shocking when we pick up the old tattered lamby he used to hold close, thumb in his mouth, and we wonder where the pudgy toddler went?

Everyone knows the hair falls out, the teeth fall out, the skin sags, eyelids droop, but why don’t we celebrate aging anyway because inside that wrinkled container is a nest of pale blue robin’s eggs, is a pink convertible with lime green furry dice, is a soft blanket under starry night, is a first kiss, is a banana-seat bicycle, is the wind through the pines, is a way she said “yes,” is the nub of a pencil in fourth grade, is the legs entwined under the flowered sheets, is the motel clerk’s smile in 1977, is wax lips at Halloween, is dancing the hora at their wedding, is al fresco dining with hand on his knee under the table, is jumping rope, is the twang of a banjo from Ed’s back yard, is a boat on the water, is a breeze, is a sneeze, is a book we love.

Everyone knows we’re all gonna die, but we forget to nod in acknowledgement of this every single day. We forget to nod, to bow, to Namaste, to one another and ourselves every single day.


Photo by istock photo.