The privilege of wisdom

Ten years, this week,
that we've lived here;
each with its annual parades and losses --
the tower's gone,
and so are some of the cabins
(replaced by mcmansions)
and some of the people
(new neighbors,
though the dead are not replaced,
but rather missed).
The lagoon is shallower now;
a boat got stuck there yesterday --


someone who didn't know the channel
slammed into a sandbar
and had to leave his boat there,
high and dry,
until the tide rolled in.
It sat all day, center stage,
red and white against the blue sky
as we shot off our cannon
and paraded by, with flags and drums;
a symbol of failure, of newness,
to be gossiped about along the road,
the old-timers all chuckling,
even as their pace has slowed;
the pain of age offset
by the privilege of wisdom...