Crone

I got a new desk at work with a view of the clouds and my fill of gorgeous sunlight. 

I discovered a drawback today. This light is far better to see new grays by. 

I try not to be too vocal about aging in public spaces. It’s a privilege denied many, and I am happy to be here. Plus I was born with good genes and a deep desire to stay healthy.

Oh, and fuck the patriarchy.  

Sadly, I was also born* with a healthy dollop of vanity.

Anyway, I cannot resist being all-kinds-of dramatic about it in my real life. 

So I started complaining to my coworker about my new friends, the grays. And as I started complaining about their nature and texture, these words tumbled out of my mouth so fast that my brain did not even process. 

The grays stand straight up like little wisdom antennas to connect us to Truth in the universe. 

I mean, that’s what I recall saying. I was probably less articulate than my memory serves. I do recall the tone I used implied (inferred?) that I said this statement in jest. But soon after I spoke, these words felt very true, in my body, mind and spirit. 

As they well should. 

*conditioned? programmed?

My view

My grays