poetry

We like to visit places where the famous have lived, worked, fought, thrived, died. Like to imagine we are walking where they walked sitting where they sat seeing what they saw. And not just the famous but places of our own family\’s past. Here a grandfather was born there a great-grandmother died, over this way

Looking back from the high vantage point of old age the road you took, whether more or less travelled, seems like a highway carrying you straight from birth to, well, to the opposite of birth. But if you examine the route carefully, magnifying glass to old eye, you see the fractal pattern of blind alleys,

The change from always being the youngest in the room to always being the oldest seems to happen overnight