Incrementally
That’s how we die
Year after year goes by and we don’t really stop to contemplate that we are aging
The big signs aren’t always there either
I’m fitter now then I was in my twenties
I suffer no aches or pains
A couple of silver hairs but not many and I rarely see them anyway
My sons grow taller and stronger, now they sweep me off my feet laughing
Their lives change, mine not so much although I can feel the rings being grown around some metaphysical trunk through the centre of my existence
I don’t stand in the mirror contemplating and never really have – I don’t associate the me that thinks and rhymes and breathes with the person that shows up there when I brush my teeth
I don’t know why
It’s not a dismorphia – I don’t have a problem with my reflection, I just don’t really pay it much attention
The only time I think of myself as growing older is in relation to other people, my sons, my siblings, a tree in the garden I planted that has now, by far, out stripped me in height
When we are truly lodged within
We don’t look back from without
And ageing just doesn’t apply
The years just go by
And we have to be careful to recall from time to time
We will indeed die
*a note to my procrastinating and over relaxed self…
