Holding onto something.
I don't know what it is but I like it.
Feels like I should hang onto it.
I've lost or left behind most of what I used to have.
Now, I've got this thing, gonna hang on, hold it up.
There's colours around.
And a place for me to sleep.
I'm sitting down not cause I'm tired but cause I'm saving my energy for something worthwhile.
I don't go clambering up trees for no reason any more.
I'm looking out, looking around, seeking things of interest.
It takes more to rouse me these days.
It takes more to attract my attention.
I've seen plenty of things in the jungle.
It might be considered I'm lucky to still be alive.
It might be said I grew to love the jungle.
It might be said I made some mischief of my own.
I don't care much about what others say anymore.
I don't have time to waste on things that aren't true.
I don't mind a good story, though.
Or shooting the shit with a good hearted, dumb baboon.
And little chimps, well, I've always got time for them.
Much of the bountiful zest has diminished.
The wild cries, raucous laughs have faded.
Scrapping, flying between trees, rampant fornicating...
Now things I miss.
Once in a while I'll do one of them, maybe two...
But the days of all three, over and over...
Doesn't worry me. Natural progression.
I survived great falls, being prey to tigers, my own foolish youth.
I crossed expansive chasms, explored deep, dark caverns, played with fire and lightening and once rode the back of a stampeding zebra.
So, sitting back now, I've got plenty to think about, to remember.
Even though, there's lots I've forgotten, too.
By choice, by necessity, over time.
Lucky, I guess, I am.
Certainly not ungrateful.
Doesn't really matter.
I'm just sitting here now.
Not going anywhere soon.
And liking it that way.