Maybe it is what it is, like it is for everyone, and will be for me again, if I'm fortunate.
Instead, here's a picture of a fawn, come to drink from the lake, which has a clarity only morning can muster.
Isn't she beautiful?
Wasn't I lucky to capture that?
The world gets more beautiful, not less, with time. I think so—if you keep your eyes open. Maybe that's why aging hurts so much. It's not all sadness or the yearning for a youth gone past.
It's the exquisiteness of having, when all of life is positioning you toward loss.
And yet—isn't she beautiful?
Wasn't I lucky?
And don't you just love it when you're in your own skin and the silence surrounding you—