We grow older every day. The sun rises, sets; the months march onward, followed by the years. I used to think that forty was old; actually ancient. But that was in the glow of youth, before I arrived there myself. I’ve amended my opinion on what is old. I think now that old is a state of mind, someplace I don’t have to go unless I chose it. Until this morning…I plucked a gray hair from my head, examined the fine lines around my mouth, realized I followed the exact same routine each morning. Set in my ways. Growing older.
Please follow and like the blue thistle