I will look for that new moon outside my bedroom window tonight. A new Moon even as I grow old. Old in numbers, that is. Inside I am still much as I was, blessed by the writing that flows through my life and connects the younger me to now. A river of goodness and “me-ness.”
Old in the sense of being long-lived brings more experiences and wisdom to write about – lost loves and broken hearts, bottom-of-a crumpled-paper-bag despair. And triumphs.
One thing old does not mean is stopping. Not...