It begins softly-
a slower rise from the chair,
a name on the tip of the tongue
that stays just out of reach.

Lines appear
not as flaws
but as evidence-
laughter lived,
worry carried,
sunlight remembered.

The back curves,
not in defeat,
but in reverence
for all it has held.

Joints speak now,
more than they once did.
A language
of caution,
of wisdom
measured in steps,
not strides.

Time no longer rushes.
It lingers
in morning tea,
in the way light
settles across the floor.

There is loss,
yes-
of speed,of ease,
of faces that do not return.
But there is gain too,
quiet and steady:
the grace of letting go,
the beauty of no longer needing
to be more
than what you are.

When gravity takes his toll,
he leaves you closer
to the ground
where roots deepen,
where silence listens,
and where everything that matters
remains.