OLD WOMAN

The old woman sits on a park bench. She always did like nature,
being out in the open air. The tranquillity and unpretentiousness of it
all.

Her face is more wrinkled now than it ever was. Naturally, that was
inevitable.
She likes to think of the wrinkles as 'lines of life' (as she thought
someone had said before) - they show you have lived, that you've
expressed your emotions.
Surely laughter lines are to be celebrated, anyway? What's life if you
can't laugh - what's an aged face without laughter lines?

She smiles to herself. Is she happy? Is she loopy?
Perhaps she's both. Could she be both?
She'd rather just be happy.

She considers her past. She's not dwelling, just thinking.
She's learnt by now that regret is not only a waste of time, it's a
waste of life.
She's glad she didn't let regret waste her life.

At one point she seems she could be close to tears, then she smiles
again. Surely this indicates she's happy? Or at least content?

I hope she's happy. For that woman is me.
One day.
If she's lucky.

3 April 2002