When you are past your use by date, past your three-score-years-and-ten, somehow on the far side of your allotted span – you are supposed to feel bittersweet emotions, and you do, but in my case it is not regret or a feeling of loss, but of emerging from struggle, and doubt, into joy. Of gratitude now, mixed with aches and pains of war now finished.
Morning’s are good, especially sunny mornings, in spring, like this one today, as I sit on the stoop. A child could be forgiven for believing that the air is blue, looking up at the sky, even though logic says the air close at hand is perfectly clear. I’m seeing that the air IS blue, seeing as a child might. I still wonder, am in awe, of everything, when I shrug off my tired, old, worn out, memory-stained, cloths of habit.
Just say, “Joe, you don’t know.” That will clean the doors of perception, mate! Prisms of clarity. Polished glass!
Don’t be a baby! Well, yes, do! – if you want your eyes back.