Mia Lucia

I am too old to be considered young ,butnot quite old enough to be thought of as elderly ,or ancient.I have yet to define what kind of elder I will be when the color in my hair , or perhaps my hair itself is nothing but a pale fine ghost of my current crowning glory. I am leaning towards the " cashing in on my longevity as one would life as a broken-in shoe "approach to being an older lady which is to say I will be happy that I have come to fit my sense of self into the person I want to be ,and to move comfortably even if I don't look real impressive. My eyes look back at me sometimes and challenge me to embrace how time is moving across my face.Its not difficult , not compared to the idea that time is also shifting more of itself into the past as the future seems less an open road and more a garden walled by loss and the unknown.I am finding my capacity to appreciate all things good growing stronger ,and I revisit authors I have loved to read and read again with new insight into their words that equal the best music that has stirred my cauldron. I am an artist who weeds so that when I am ready to draw , or paint it will be that much better,and as I tackle fierce quick vines and sneaky vines ,and many many baby oaks where no oak can grow I think myself heartless just like nature itself...but wise too.