We're waiting for Spring. Some signs have appeared, but they have been quickly erased by the rain and the cold winds. As if we needed another reminder, the white blossom fall has added to the appearance of snowfall.
But there are subtle signs. The morning I opt for a lightweight shirt instead of a fleece or sweatshirt tells me I'm aware of the higher temperature that punctuates the days with promise.
The clocks have been reset and the days catch as much light as they can. But, again, when the rain comes it turns out lights and makes us want to curl up somewhere. So, we do.
And in a similar fashion, our lives evaporate with days becoming years and the changes just as subtle as the winter/spring two-step.
The hair lightens from gray to white, the skin becomes even more supple, and the senses struggle with sound and vision. There is joy in the mornings because we begin anew daily.
With the subtlety comes release. We no longer care what those who only suspect think. We have nothing to prove because we have accomplished a good deal by this point. So, on we trudge relieved of the burden of appearance. Free from any routine we despise, liberated from our own shortcomings, but knowing full well that we are capable of mistakes, unable to stay alert on occasion, and hardly rid of impatience and anger.
I like to call it a "remarkable" time of life. We rarely have to be somewhere, and when we do it's often with the knowledge that we won't have to tomorrow. Yet I marvel at how the days still have their familiar personalities. Mondays and Fridays still carry the same emotion. Sunday has changed the most because there is rarely anything that needed to be done before I put out the light on a weekend.
This different time also features the change in exchanging glances on the street. Some ignore me more. Age will make those assumptions. I try to smile without being judged. If so, I quickly fall into the let it go mode. We can't know everybody just as we can't always know ourselves.
But there are subtle signs. The morning I opt for a lightweight shirt instead of a fleece or sweatshirt tells me I'm aware of the higher temperature that punctuates the days with promise.
The clocks have been reset and the days catch as much light as they can. But, again, when the rain comes it turns out lights and makes us want to curl up somewhere. So, we do.
And in a similar fashion, our lives evaporate with days becoming years and the changes just as subtle as the winter/spring two-step.
The hair lightens from gray to white, the skin becomes even more supple, and the senses struggle with sound and vision. There is joy in the mornings because we begin anew daily.
With the subtlety comes release. We no longer care what those who only suspect think. We have nothing to prove because we have accomplished a good deal by this point. So, on we trudge relieved of the burden of appearance. Free from any routine we despise, liberated from our own shortcomings, but knowing full well that we are capable of mistakes, unable to stay alert on occasion, and hardly rid of impatience and anger.
I like to call it a "remarkable" time of life. We rarely have to be somewhere, and when we do it's often with the knowledge that we won't have to tomorrow. Yet I marvel at how the days still have their familiar personalities. Mondays and Fridays still carry the same emotion. Sunday has changed the most because there is rarely anything that needed to be done before I put out the light on a weekend.
This different time also features the change in exchanging glances on the street. Some ignore me more. Age will make those assumptions. I try to smile without being judged. If so, I quickly fall into the let it go mode. We can't know everybody just as we can't always know ourselves.
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