Being old happens when you
live long enough,
the hair on your head
turning white or falling out;
your steps,
once confident, falter,
so you carry a cane
with a spike on the end
so when the snow falls
and you go out for a walk
or to and from the bus,
you don’t slip and fall.
Then, one day, you hesitate
when you look out the window
and stay home, recalling
what your mother said, that
old age is not for sissies, it’s
for the brave, who look at life’s
realities and see them as
challenges. Looked at
this way, possibilities appear.
You buy two nordic
walking sticks, and
use them. You find
exercises that are important,
and you put them in your
“to do” list, then do them.
Instead of losing hope,
you regain it by
doing what you need
to do to keep yourself
healthy, fit, and interested
in the world around you
until the end, which
comes when it
is ready.
Thank you George. It reminds me of what James Hillman wrote about in the Souls Code. Growing down is something that touches me where I am. Blessings to you and yours as you continue the journey.
Very nice poem, but the picture doesn’t look at all like you. 🙂 I feel another song coming on.