But now, though I am with eventide, my heart is still veiling down,// And though I am with Autumn, my ears still echo the songs of spring.

Kahlil Gibran

I feel the rhythm of age in my bones. The once distant now immediate song of feet that swell, of faded hair and memory, of harmony and dissonance of days spent in doctors appointments and work and watching TV. I would not change a note. The rattle and hum of wisdom. The promise of beginner’s eyes that emerge over a lifetime. The seasons that flow in perfect time. I live in emerging eventide, on the edge of the time in life when I am comfortable in my skin. Ready to relax. Just about to give myself permission not to be so hard on all of it.

I hear the echo of spring. I expect my body to act young. I expect my mind to know the things it always has and still learn more. I expect the children I love to remain children. I expect the places I know to remain larger than life and significant. I expect there to be constants, though I know that is impossible and that life and death are constants. I expect that when I breathe deeply my heart slows down and my mind clears. I expect that good will triumph over bad. (That feels like a very springlike, hopeful thought.) I expect there to be change and connect change with things like creativity and growth. (Though change can be hard when it requires letting go and saying goodbye.)

All in all, eventide agrees with me. I pay more attention. I take gratitude to heart, both giving and receiving of thanks. I separate what matters from what does not more frequently than I used to. I still have goals and connections and desires, which is good having experienced success and failure many, many, many times.

My heart somehow beats more strongly now. I hear life’s temporal, impermanent beauty like a train whistle reminding me to live. Words like joy and awe and morning have more meaning as I have said hello and goodbye enough so that those words are etched in my memories.