In my morning meditations I have been reading from Wendell Berry’s collection of poems, Leavings.   Today’s selection struck a chord, as many of his poems do.  To my younger friends, may these lines reveal something of what lies ahead.  For my contemporaries and older friends, let us remember the always unfolding newness and possibility of the perspectives that can accompany our aging.

I know I am getting old and I say so, but I don’t think of myself as an old man.  I think of myself as a young man with unforeseen debilities.  Time is neither young nor old, but simply new, always counting, the only apocalypse…Even the old body is new – who has known it before? – and no sooner new than gone, to be replaced by a body yet older and again new.