Make friends with the 80 year old you. The one that stands strong like a cedar tree, occasionally with the help of a nearby chair. The one with flour clinging to her elbows and the faint trace of hair on her arms. The one standing barefoot at the screen door, looking out on her grandchildren playing “knights”, with sticks for swords, under the veil of the magnolia tree.
The one who stands not on the legs of youth and beauty, but of wisdom and patience and fire-tested faith. No longer lauded for the dulcet sound of her voice but the seasoned stock of her speech.
If you look closely, you can see her there. See her there in those same blue eyes that make their home on your un-lined face. Shake her hand and invite her into your meetings and plans, so age will be no stranger descending like a harrowing mist, but a country sun rising to its full height in the east.
// Words by Alison Whitehurst