Morning Muse 133 : And Then, It Is Winter

Time has a way of slipping quietly through our fingers, catching us off guard with its swiftness. It feels like only yesterday I was young, newly married, filled with dreams, and setting out on life’s grand adventure. And yet, when I look back, it feels like ages ago. I wonder—where did all those years go?

I remember them all—every joy, every struggle, every hope that once seemed so vivid. But here I am, in the winter of my life, and it has arrived sooner than I ever imagined. How did I get here so quickly? Where did my youth go?

I recall looking at older people years ago, thinking their time was far away, their world distant from mine. And now, somehow, I’ve become one of them. My friends are greying, moving slower; some stronger, some weaker—and I too see the reflection of age in the mirror.

These days, small victories matter: taking a good shower, finishing a morning walk, or staying awake through a TV show. Naps are no longer indulgent—they’re essential. The aches and fatigue have become familiar companions, but so has acceptance.

I’ve entered this season somewhat unprepared, missing the strength and freedom I once took for granted. Yet I hold gratitude—for all I’ve done, and even for what I’ve left undone—for together they form the mosaic of a life truly lived. When this winter ends, I believe another journey will begin—one that needs no body, no clock, only peace.

Yes, there are regrets—things I might have done differently—but there is also deep contentment for the choices that shaped me, the people I loved, and the laughter I shared.

So, to those still in the earlier seasons of life: your winter will come faster than you think. Don’t wait too long to live your dreams, to speak your love, to take that chance. Life races by quietly, and tomorrow is never promised. Do it today, say it today.

“Life” is a gift—and how you live it will be your gift to those who come after you. Make it beautiful. Make it generous. Make it real.

And remember, true wealth isn’t measured in gold or silver, but in health, kindness, and moments shared with those you love.

The years will bring their own humour:
Your children will become you, and your grandchildren will seem perfect.
Going out is fun—but coming home feels even better.
You’ll forget names, and so will others, so it balances out!
You’ll stop caring about things that once mattered—and care deeply that you’ve stopped caring.
The best sleep will come unplanned, in a chair, mid-show.
You’ll laugh at the gadgets that replaced the simple on and off.
And someday, you’ll find that your closet holds three sizes—two of which belong to another lifetime.

But remember this: old is gold.
Old songs, old movies, old stories—and above all, old friends.

So here’s to you, my winter friend.
Stay well, stay kind, stay grateful.
For even as the snow falls softly on our years, our hearts can still glow with the warmth of all the summers we’ve lived.

Age gently, live deeply, and cherish the silence of this beautiful winter.