Wednesday, April 12, 2017
THE SHIFTING WEATHER plays a shell game with the aging.
With each missed guess, the walk gets harder. It's a type of wearing down, cheetahs and gazelles, coalitions of the quick who know how to outlast the tired and tiring. Little nips, jabs really, that take away your legs in the end. It's worse than a storm. Slow exhaustion that doesn't test your chin, but the old man strength you better be cultivating all the while.
Half asleep, a thought. My strongest emotions, welling up, seem to always drain into sadness. I wonder why that is. Good fortune my way, but the shadow looks for conspiracies, tears it down, as if looking for proof of its architecture. But not this time.
It stands. It reflects light. That's enough for me.
That will be enough for me.
Learning to convert shade into shining might be the best thing I'm finally learning to learn.