So if women are birds I follow my covey into the brown hills to reflect on life. When my own mother was dying, I sat by her bed and she told me I was strong, a trait I know I gleaned from her even though she was so frail when she spoke the words. As you age you lose your strength, not only physically but you become more frail of spirit. Fragility of spirit is not a weakness it allows you to become more compassionate, though your corners soften, the world sometimes feels more pointy, prickly. I avoid prickly people and situations, life is shorter than it once was, I choose quality, I give quality, there is no such thing as perfection, perfection is a myth, perfection is a sliding scale.
Life is all about the way you look at things, your perception, you take thoughts in and whir them in your blender brain, it's how they pop out once poured in the cup of your open heart that makes the difference.
I took two pictures both in the same spot, same frame, different focus, the first one above of the brown grass...
The hills teach me everything and today the lesson I gleaned was that we may have once been birds but we are also the chamise, we are layers, we are brown and green and despite the season we are all still capable of blooming.