Poetry by Brooke Elyse Alexanderson

She wakes when her body wants, No shrieking noise of alarm clocks. The dappled light, the birdsong, Muster her from dreams long gone. The coffee’s on, The curtains pulled, The light pours in, The day is full. Bare feet across the forest floor, Sun on her skin is all she wore. Anything she wants to do, The day is hers, she gets to choose. She follows ancient paths that wind, To secret streams the forest hides. The Southern Ocean, vast and raw, Where seals surf and eagles soar.

Halfway to seventy, I stand in between, no longer a girl, not yet the queen. The past was my teacher, the future my grace, but here in the middle I honour my pace. With joy as my compass and stillness my guide, I craft the soft edges of her from inside. With every life choice I paint my own way, turn moments to magic, romance the mundane. Each breath is a brushstroke, each step plays a part, of a journey unfolding, a work of art. In colours of courage, in hues of light, she m