That Kind of Year
A birthday of note this year, but aren’t they all? Isn’t every one of them precious proof that we live another day?
This morning I woke up to greetings from family and friends, dear ones I’ve known for decades. What richness! What a privilege to reach this, “the furthest exploratory tip of this my present bewildering age,” in the words of Annie Dillard. Even if it’s bewildering, maybe even because it’s bewildering.
I think of Kathy, Cathy and Gerry, good friends taken too soon. With their lives and the lives of all the people I love in mind, gratitude is the only emotion allowed on this day. But truth to tell, I would probably be feeling it anyway. It’s that kind of morning, that kind of month, that kind of year.
