After so much weekend activity, today I’m literally at a standstill - reclining in bed because of a bullfrog-croaking-voice, dull headache, stuffed-up sinuses, and lead appendages that refuse to carry me beyond the blankets. Although it’s never fun to be sick, I do relish my solitary companions: a heavenly, water-laden wind blowing off the lake and my trusty laptop.
An antique oval mirror stands on the opposite wall in exactly the right place to capture my pillow-propped reflection. A greenish-blue, bullfrog-ish pajama-shirt stares back, topped by a strangely alien face that looks much older, more drawn, more sunken-eyed than another similar-but-younger one I remember quite clearly. And those froggy-looking neck wrinkles? Goodness, they seem to compound by the minute, hanging like folds of a heavy theater curtain that keep sagging, sagging with their own weight.
Was I really this same age yesterday, when enveloped by a crowd of vigorous children and strong-to-the-bone younger adults? Yes…I recognized the discrepancies, the disparity in levels of energy and tolerance. I wonder how they saw me?
1 comment:
No WONDER you've ended up in your froggy pajama top! (And wouldn't it be interesting to know how they perceive us???)
Re-enter life gently. (There's a sign as you leave the lane at the Hermitage outside Three Rivers that says something to this effect...Such a good reminder.)
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