Age
I am the child of change,
Like the winds, do me and my family shift.
One thing one moment, another the next.
Our age shows.
Not through the usual signs,
but more in the ones you do not think.
Pearly white skin as bright as can be shifts to beige and then brown,
Eyes of blue turn green, or hazel or brown.
Black hair turns blond, then back again given time.
Or it can turn russet, like the autumn or the brown of the forest. But never just one
color. Black is just not black it usually has red highlights.
Time shows on us. My family and I.
The rythms of our lives found not in the wrinkles on our skin or the gray in our hair.
Many of us do not turn gray until our eighties.
But it is more found in the many hues that we change.
We can not stay one color anymore then we change who we are.
That it is impossible but for my family the probable is not in the cards.
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