Age moves your cogs not so silently. You don’t run into walls and wonder how much you hurt the bricks. It’s your joints you worry about. From winning the world, your dreams are resized to fit a plot in a second-tier city.
Youth is fire that you want to burn the world with. With age, you are happy if it cooks the omelette well. Middle age. When the cloud of your dreams has rained down as years gone by; when the rivers of your plains are yet to swell; when it is green and beautiful but there won’t be no peaks and waterfalls.
The constant expectedness that you worked so hard for finally arrives. The safety that comes from wisdom is finally achieved. Don’t play with the predators, don’t take the longer path, don’t linger where you should not. And, you do not. The age of knowing, the age of accepting.
Middle age.
