Wild Geese

A preview of your bookis placed on our websiteto give customers asample of your work.Maximum of 1,000 words. Please provide the EXACT passagethat you prefer. I have been contemplating how my life has evolved, how much the course of events was destined to happen and what part did my own aspirations mould the person that I am. In my mind’s eye I see the girl I always was, more learned now, perhaps, certainly more experienced, more sure of myself and my role in life; but otherwise exactly as I always have been. But if I take a good hard look in the mirror, examine what I SEE, what do I find? The image is of an ageing woman with the ghost of the girl she was, peering through. How can this be? When I am dressing for an outing and looking in the glass in order to check if I look presentable, I still see a flattering view of myself, smiling attractively, no hint of the ageing person I have so obviously become. So there appear to be two differing images – the one I have always recognised and the one as others see me now. The mirror reveals the truth - crinkly eyes with too much laughing, (or crying), flesh around the mouth no longer firm, hanging down where it used to smile in a happy curve; the neck wrinkled in folds, arms dry and often itchy with liver spots making their appearance, and standing back for more horrors, I see breasts and hips heavy with age, legs perhaps my best feature, still shapely if you disregard the raised veins tunnelling down the calves. I can just about take the honesty of this standing-still front view, but checking out a passing glimpse in another mirror reveals rounded shoulders, balanced out by protruding belly, no waist to speak of, with a facial profile showing a heavy nose and jowls, hair grey/bleached blond, scraped back in a ponytail for convenience – not a charismatic view at all. And this is as others see me! Until pensionable age, growing old gracefully (or otherwise!) was never a consideration. It was not a choice we had to make - it just happened. For most of our lives it is a stage far away in the future, well over the horizon, and then it is suddenly upon us. And it comes as a shock, as inevitable as day following night. This is only the outward appearance I tell myself. Inside I am the same as I was at 20 or 30 or 60 and through all the changes of life, except that those changes have added to the SELF that is me now, and so I conclude that I cannot be the same. Frowns, crow’s feet, whatever, are the results of life, of living, and make up the character that is now ME. I am of an age to do as I please. As Jenny Jones declares in her ‘WARNING’ poem - “When I am old I shall wear purple ... And run my stick along the public railings ... and learn to spit.” My reply to that is (without any remorse) - “Now that I’m old I don’t give a damn, I’ll cough across the table and sneeze into your gin! And be a soddin’ nuisance to all my kith and kin.” But inside I feel the same as I always did. Should I feel different now that I am older - that dreaded word that sets us apart? I still live and love my life. I enjoy things I have always enjoyed – my home gives me great pleasure still, my garden and woodland. What do I find has changed? I do everything more slowly. I have time to think and I appreciate more because of this. I don’t think of myself as wrinkly or even ageing which means losing some of your faculties. There is a stubbornness about me that says never mind what others think. As I ended a recent verse – “ ..I’ve not found any wealth So now it’s time to break the mould And please me bloomin’ self”.