I have been told that thinking is a dangerous thing to do at my age. It is possibly a dangerous thing to do at any age, if you think about it, for who knows where it may lead?
But I quite like thinking, and all the things that trigger it off. Like books and pictures for instance. What I could do with is some method of retaining said thoughts, as they usually evaporate like so much smoke, never to be seen again. I make notes on everything in a vain hope of remembering all the good stuff, and it works some of the time.
Then I am told ‘what do you expect, at your age?’
But this is the difficult part. My mind does not feel old, even though it seems to have more holes in it than my favourite cheese, and when I see or read something that stirs my imagination, I am back in my prime, having a sneaky feeling that this is not all there is for me.
Some of the time I must admit that I really don’t want any more, I am too tired to even consider the possibility. But then there are the other days– days when you forget just how old, and how stiff you are. That you find it difficult just going to the shops and back.
Days when you choose to ignore the sands of time slipping through your fingers and find yourself considering the most amazing possibilities.
Of course, this may be what happens as you approach old age. I don’t know, I have no experience or knowledge of it, not having done it before.
But if you can think, you can dream. And if you can dream I believe you can do anything… at any age!