Let Me Grow Lovely
Let me grow lovely, growing old--
So many fine things do:
Laces, and ivory, and gold,
And silks need not be new;
And there is healing in old trees,
Old streets a glamour hold;
Why may not I, as well as these,
Grow lovely, growing old?
Karle Wilson Baker
These words found me earlier this winter and I keep returning to them time after time. That first line, "Let me grow lovely, growing old--"
has become almost a mantra in the last couple of months. I repeat it often when I feel the grumpy old lady creeping into my brain when I gripe about the weather or the quarantine. I'm working daily on
"Grow lovely, growing old"
I'm trying to be more patient than when I was younger. I know everything happens in its own time and place.
I move slower than I did when I was younger, but in my slower moves, I notice more--buds on the trees, tulips poking through the ground, people's actions and reactions.
I appreciate the world around me a little more--quiet moments, really good food, time spent with family and friends, handwritten notes.
I try to put myself in other's shoes before judging them. And that can be tough at times
I let things go easier now. Things that really don't matter. If it doesn't matter a year from now...
I'm trying, really trying to "grow lovely, growing old."