aging

If I could dance in my sleep, I would. If I could whirl about on top of a mountain top, I would. If I could swirl and swirl in a meadow, I would.
 
I can do all these things.
 
The dull ache in my muscles from some unknown activity mystifies me. I am surrounded by mysteries tonight. There is a great gale of a wind that has been sweeping around the house, slamming into the windows, shaking the doors, all night long. It batters the sideboards and whistles up the stairways before dying into an eerie quiet.  Read more »

Yesterday, I stood in front of the mirror, my hair all mussed, my shirt hanging off the kilt of my shoulder and I noticed one lone hair, shining brighter than the rest, attempting to craggily stand itself up into the air. I smiled, pulled it away from the rest of its brunette companions and marveled: this white hair was proof that I was again! It was not silvery gray, like many others that tuck themselves here and there; no, this one was white! A shimmering beacon of the next frontier for my life. Unlike perhaps many I know, I didn't freak out, I didn't immediately think, "Now I need to start dyeing my hair." No, I just thought, "I guess I am living." And so I tucked the lone hair back with the rest and went on my way. Read more »