Sometimes you know the exact moment that everything changed forever. But often it is a gradual, imperceptible transformation, until suddenly, one day, there is a stranger in your mirror. A bare bough with no trail of crumbling russet leaves.
Perhaps, it is not the reflection itself that is different, but the eyes that perceive it.
It is possible, Marcus, that what we see ourselves as, matters much more that what we really are.
What we are and can be in isolation is often at odds with what we need to be, relative to everything around us.
What would we be, if we had neither the reassurance of common fallibility nor the challenge of its ultimate potential.
At peace with that reflection.
ask the moon
she knows it is the lake
that waxes and wanes