Monday, February 17, 2020
Yesterday, we walked about two miles on Napatree Beach in seriously wintry weather – 27 degrees and high winds whipping around us. We were bundled up and stayed fairly silent, since we needed all our concentration to keep us on course to Napatree Point and back. At several points I thought, “What are we old folks doing out here in this crazy weather?”, but then I quickly corrected myself. This wind and cold, I said, is young, just born this morning, or even just this minute. Who can find where a wind starts, or how old a wind is, and who can say when the frozen air on our skin was born? We wouldn’t think of saying the wind or the 27 degree temperature is ‘old’, so why do I apply that term to myself? In truth, and in countless ways, my life, like winds and freezing cold, is reborn every moment. I am as new, always, as the icy sunshine on the sand and the frost I felt on my face yesterday. I sometimes say I’m old only because I lose sight of the sparkle and inventiveness of each moment. There was freshness in the frozen wind on the beach yesterday, and there was freshness – and youth – in Delycia and I as we walked – maybe danced – along the shore.
Two magnetic poems on our fridge today …