Old Stories

Poem - by Lisa Timpf

when the first people began

their fumbling efforts

to explain the phenomena

that made them tremble,

like eclipses, or winter,

the fear that warmth

might never return, 

they made up stories

for comfort, for solace,

and some of the stories

were scientifically way off base

and yet cut to the core

of meaning, the kernel of truth

at the heart of things

now that I am closer

to the end than the beginning

of my life’s journey, I wonder

what stories I should tell myself

about spring following winter,

about renewal, rebirth

perhaps I’m more like

those ancient shepherds 

sitting on a hillside

gaping at stars

than I want to acknowledge

because I know

no more than they did

about what comes next

I can only shiver in the dark

and wonder