The light is longer. I watch the sun swagger in a higher sky, almost refusing to dunk into the dark. It thinks me. I get it. After all, who would want to dunk into the dark when there’s a swagger in those hips? I was talking to a dear friend just today about hippiness, the pair of us altercated by a thing we cannot control. However, we can mediate, upseticate. We, not the sun, earthly grounded, yet equally controlled by the ultimate gravity, can take action. We can walk, we can make damn sure we walk, we can bend a bit, we can do bloody something. Or we can fold. I don’t do fold. Nor should you. Sorry for that wee bitty lecture.

The thing about getting into the Oldness Enclosure, is that, I have discovered, folk comply, give up, ask for alms. That’s a very old term. Google it. However, it fits. People do, people did, people don’t. I’m in the ‘don’t ‘ team. I walk out into a skimmingly freezing nowhere, the nowhere of my girlish soul, not girl, ancient, over 70, still me, still. Although, thanks to my children and the allowance of aging, a confoundment to me, I can still hover between the light and the dark. I can still wonder, feel lost around all the stars in my beautiful life, still ask, what now, what when, what if? And find no answers, and that silence speaks loudly. I won’t say volumes, because, even as an avid reader, volumes sent me running for a milkshake, a cup of tea, a coffee, a brandy.

We ponder this, you young folk. We lie wondering about how we will be, who we will be. Know this. Oh, we will say all is fine, everything’s fine, but we need you to coorie in, to gentle questions, to which we have buried answers for a whole lifetime. Don’t leave without answers, kindly gentle. Give your time.

We move into Spring. We see new life. How about making amends?

I have no idea why I ended here.