On this bright, chill day, I am attracted to images of age and growing old. Today there's no tinge of sorrow to it, although I confess there sometimes is, perhaps often. But today feels like something akin to the warmth of quiet insight that can come from simply observing reality, just as they say...
You see, I can conjure the debilitation of getting older, I've experienced it already, if gently. Yet, I also notice there is a growth of my skill. So as my eyesight fades, my ability to guess the letters improves. Or i say the word I can find rather than the one I seek. Not the same, perhaps, but good enough for this moment.
My worship can extend to my loose folds of skin, back spasms, wrinkled hands. It can move on to a more internal non-physical vision. How pleased I can become with who I truly am and what is in truly front of me. How pleased to touch and softly hold this moment and then let go.