A small group of seniors introduced themselves to me in the park one day last fall. Their expressions bore the spots and scars of age. One leaned precariously on another for support, her shriveled face lined and soft.
Inspired to stop and say hello, their friendly smiles brightened. They welcomed me to sit a while. It had been some time since someone had. They spoke to me of the sunnier, warmer season of their youth; of children who adored them and women who knew their names.
As I stood to leave, I snapped a photo, capturing their withered, fragile forms. We come to this world innocent, as young and flawless blossoms. It’s the storms we weather and the joy we encounter that engrave wisdom on our bodies and bestow upon us beauty.
Peace . . .