Monday, October 3, 2011

Tattered

Autumn has always been my favorite season.  The tattered and worn trees of late Summer are reborn in a glorious display of yellow, red, and orange.  Grasses arch their seed laden heads in a regal display not to be rivaled by any florist.  Autumn flowers rise in airy whites and feathery yellows, stalwart in the fading sun and approaching frost.
Everything has its seasons.  I am in the late Summer of my life.  When I look in the mirror, I see the lines and scars my years of living have left.  A streak of sliver swims through my hair. Like the late summer trees, I am faded and frayed a bit around the edges.  I find this hard to accept.  I am proud of my years and would not give up any of the experiences that have brought me to this place in my life, but I am also surrounded by images of youth and beauty.  I want to grow old gracefully rather than desperately cling to youth, but I don’t know how.  The only images of age I can find are those who are artificially young or pathetically old.  So I must make my own path, unguided by those around me.  I hope I will have my own Autumn, reborn with grace and beauty I had never imagined. 
Silver streak and all.

1 comment:

  1. I am very much enjoying your thoughts and writing style. Thank you so much for sharing yourself and your experiences.

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