(Why I play such sad and haunting music when I am alone and hubby is on the other side of the world is something only a well-experienced psychotherapist could explain. I skate dangerously close to the precipice as an aging soul.)
The photo below is a perfect example of the breathtaking beauty and strength of old trees in the West. The air is dry and the sun is hot and wood just seems to grin and wrinkle and age in such a lovely old way. It becomes a parchment skin that is neither fragile nor brittle. Instead it is a thick skinned dinosaur that reminds you of its magnificence just a few decades ago. It lies about paths and trails daring you to stop and study true aging, to stop and see what you can learn from the patience of a dignified life. While sometimes a cold gray color, it is not cold, but welcoming and just begging for your touch, which, of course, you must do gently before moving on down the path to a destination with a view.