I turned 40.
I am 40.

This is the distant murmur of summer’s golden honey and nectar, amber-ing.

Staring at this number leaves me incredulous; this old-youth; this oddly wise decade; this, what will be a seemingly interminable reflection of the 39 years that have passed – until 41. Under the watchful eye of time, and yet unbeknownst to my run-away train consciousness, I have arrived here with a fumbled grace. Divine haphazardness and well cultivated intention has set at the most beautiful place, I see this and the abundant gifts yet to be realized.


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