Lately I’ve been noticing my skin changing. Being woman of a certain age, I knew this day would come… Still, it’s a bit disconcerting to discover the lines, the creases, the spots that seem to appear overnight.
My head knows that this is completely natural. I try to remind myself that things only get more wrinkled from here and I should revel in how I look now. Most days I’m completely OK with where I am – fine lines and gray hair and creaky knees and all.
This weekend I walked by a truck with its bed full of giant birch logs. Birch bark is so fascinating. The peels and imperfections are what make it special. Looking at a cross section of one particularly large log, I remembered the what we learned in school about the rings of the trees. The story of that tree’s life are written in the lines and nicks. Its texture begs you to touch it, and find out the story for yourself.
I’m not a birch tree. But there are stories in my lines too.
Photos taken by me on Easter Sunday. iPhone/Instagram