She’s calmer now. The winter Sun is setting.
The edges of her voice have dulled
her eyes are still swift, snowy blue
blossomed into summer skies.
She is august now. Slow,
heavy as the air. Mellow,
the Moon easing in her hammock.
We’re supposed to get wiser as we age, we’re supposed to absorb the world around us and the knowledge from every experience we have until we reach a destination called Old and a state called Wizened. Chronological growth follows the philosophical growth of living. Like the education system, we follow steps of growth, of intake. Continue reading