just let things age

much of the beauty in a flower is that it will fade away... just let things age. there is beauty in roofs and walls of moss and lichen, beauty in the face of a pale old man, spotted, jowly, droopy but bright bright eyed, beauty in his telling of stories of times too long ago for his listeners to remember, beauty when his droopy eyes cloud over in a timeless pause of reminiscence, beauty in his understanding that the world will go on as he folds away his stories, beauty in the strength of his quavering voice as he riles against our modern slavery to dynamism... the old world is not boring. if it has lived its life and loved its thoughts and used them well in whispers to the new world of where to look in its own quest to come of age...