Old Age

when my mom was a little girl, at summer camp, she had a counselor who would often say “החיים זה לא פיקניק״”... life is no picnic.

but some days really do feel like sunshine and straw baskets, red checkered blankets and clusters of cold green grapes.

yet it’s in the quiet moments of nearly every day when it clouds over, the basket breaks and out tumbles the crisp blanket and browned fruit.

wishing for patches of grass to stay green forever is a wish wasted. still, we meet every gust of wind and dark sky with surprise, as if it is our first.

forgetfulness is a blessing; this is what it is to grow old?