The residents arise early in this retirement center. As the Sun's rays rise over the city, wisps of orange and red gleams through their windows. They rise as if ambassadors of morning. One lady smiles as another wishes her good morning, while slowly the dining rooms and shops fill with the noise of people. The city of winter awakens.
On a walkway that runs between the buildings, many of the residents like to reminisce as they sit on the bench. It's a favorite place to sit in solace among the trees that once swayed in the spring breezes and are now barren. There are many from my generation, sprinkled about the buildings and grounds, here to tend to their needs.
"Don't ever get old, says one of the residents as he goes through his lists of his aches and pains. "Appreciate your youth. You don't know what it is like to get old. " True enough. Every year flowers here die to be replaced by new ones. The grandeur of every new garden seems to smother the ones that did not survive the winter. But for one so much in spring winter seems so far away.
The people in this place are lucky. Many of the elderly are not so fortunate to live in such accommodations. Here are fancy apartments and shops and pools; a luxury. But so is old age. "Old age is a grace denied to many,: someone once said. With that I think of a poem I wrote once:
For we lived and loved, saw children grow, then reminisced, long days ago.
The jasper fields and golden yields to winters snow.
We are those etched in stone, who once were loved, now all alone.
The grass will come, then overgrown, these names that once meant someone.
Eventually evening comes. The sun is in it's last throes before it sinks in a final blaze of eerie red sitting on the horizon like a pyre. As the dusk begins to settle over the center, the residents walk on the path say their goodbyes and slowly make their way back to their apartments.
As I stand outside and watch the lights go out in the window I realize that this is another step in the dance, as one of Siva's hands fall as another rises up again. Winter must teach the others to appreciate their springs and summers. For the first winds of winter will come soon enough, as the dance continues.
(I know this has nothing to do with politics, but I hope some might like a break from hard news. Besides, this is my favorite article, based on experiences from an old job. I hope you like it.)
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