Sitting silently, the darkness of the late afternoon envelopes the day,
Like a gentle cloud shielding the face,
From a crackling sun.
Less dramatic now, the wrinkles add their notes,
Of times well spent, and some less so,
Documented in indelible ink, not to be removed by Botox.
For we cannot conceal our learnings,
Even if we burn the books which taught us,
In the travel which is life.
We can only reflect. That is all.