The Fall

The golden years have arrived and I think I may have figured out why those years are called "golden".  All the gold or it's equivalent that you have managed to save will now surely be leached away and snatched out of your grasping hands to repair or replace all the worn parts of your body. Maintenance is expensive and repairing and replacing body parts is a practice that will be at great cost. We will soon  be looking for a salvage yard that has fingers, toes and teeth at an affordable price.

My gynecologist, the top of his head  which I see as I lay flat on my back and peer down the length of my legs which are bent at the knees, while he does his specialty, said to me "Oh, but the repairs you had done have nothing to do with aging." There was no arthritis that required the knee to be replaced."
The knee replacement was payment for all those years I spent skiing and wrecking on the slopes and the bone spur in my heel that was removed was not due to aging  according to this doctor. 
 Autumn has arrived here and without a trumpet's blare. The only indication that we are beginning a new season  is the cooler temperatures early in the morning. We don't have foliage that turns brilliant colors to announce the change of the season. If this is the autumn of my life, those golden years, then I dread the thought of what the winter season will be. I can't help but compare the seasons of the year to the seasons of one's life. Spring, the rebirth, summer the growth and autumn the time to rest while winter is the hibernation or the long sleep. 

I do look forward to the summer fading into the fall though here in south west Louisiana, that season is short as is the spring. Summers loll around for much to long; the winters usually mild compared to the northern states are my favorite. The grass doesn't need mowed, the hedges keep their summer time coif and the lone tree in my yard sheds leaves that are mulched back into the soil.
Time passes as people move in and out of our lives. Some we forget until an event happens that brings them rushing to the fore front  and along with this change in position, a rush of memories arrive. Though the years have passed and nobody remains the same, the memories are so innocent in their place in that time that bringing them into the daylight again is an insult to their delicacy. It may be better to let them rest clothed in the soft fog of memory. Resurrection in the harsh light of life lived to date is akin to the tenderness of  bruises  lived in another time.