Satisfied with ourselves, we gladly accept gray hairs and wrinkles.
All the pressure of youth having reached finally past cathartic rite of passage we start to loosen control and surf on nostalgic myth-making.
Is this dying? Is this a way to usher in the inevitable?
Or, perhaps it is Really Living. Learning, eventually, to move alongside, with, the natural flow of life.
Maybe it’s what people such as me call “my Irishness” that tells me to keep fighting
I have this feeling inside that my work isn’t yet done
so “Back to work ya bum!”
However, it may be work I should quit on, loosened grip which I sit upon. What if it is my enemy I should defend, befriend, stop fighting.
Getting younger and dumber