I am grateful for time, it's weathered hand and constancy. I am grateful for the changing seasons and the transience of all things, experiences and ideas (even though I cling to them with uncommon veracity). When I walk the trails I find beauty everywhere, in the young bloom, the withering petals moving toward seed, the dry remembrance. I see that same beauty all around me, on the streets, at my work, in the store. When I see magazine covers advertising one fleeting phase of life's grand display as "beauty", I want to cry, "REVOLT! REBEL!" .
What is the modern equivalent of bra-burning to signify anti-ageist, anti-sexist, anti-sizeist, anti-bullshitist, pro-being, pro-shining, pro-breathing, pro-aliveness? If I could come up with it, I would surely start a movement or at the very least create a memorable scene. As it is, I quietly remind the reflection in the mirror that she is no less beautiful than the various stages of life blooming along the trail. I try to remind the people whose paths I cross the same thing, not through my words necessarily, but in the mirror of eyes embracing the hands of time.