Wisdom from Living

The years that have passed leave grey shades of darkened lines on my face. My mother would not have recognized me, had she not seen me so often and for so long. The years in the sun have etched lines of laughter and thoughts on to me. With me they live and grow. What began a lifetime ago is now old tale well spun. Memories of you and of first love and of growing up in a small town full of known faces, memories of one hundred and thirty love letters written to you in brown ink, on fancy stationary. Memories of the day you burnt them and exorcised me from your life, so that I can walk back again, when I chose, now that I am a ghost of love once known.

The old Rado watches still strike a present note. Seasons come and seasons go, but they now talk of global warming a lot more. The designs of cars have changed, actors and actresses have come on gone. ET happened and then the Titanic and all have become folklore. The black and white photos of dads and moms gave way to morphed images on the I phone. Amidst all that is constant all that has changed, the wisdom from living is just the stupid lines on my face.