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| "The Old Man and the Sea", oil, by Kay Crain |
It’s
strange to me that so many senior citizens seem to hate their skin’s wrinkles,
since I feel rather fond of mine. After all, wrinkles in the skin show that a
person has survived for scores of years – has made a good fight of it, has stayed
strong through decades, has done what needed to be done to enter the eminent empire
of old age. Wrinkles mean perseverance, stamina, staying power. In some parts
of the world, people with the most wrinkles receive the most reverence, simply
because they’ve endured and carried on – and also because others sense that
wisdom silently spreads out from these creased and craggy senior citizens. I’m
not sure how much wisdom my old furrowed head contains, but I do smile when I
see my wrinkles in the mirror. I give a silent shout of thankfulness that life
has given me all these ridges and grooves, all these wrinkly badges of honor, all
these crumpled emblems of a long and lucky life.
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