Precious silence

The house is empty. Just for a sweet moment. 

No demands being made. No one to feed or clean up after.

Just me and the empty space.

I feel my being expand after days of contraction and holding my breath. 

I do my best to empty out all the pent-up rage, the pull and push of demanding others, the relentless requirement to feed, clean, shop, repeat.

I watch my partner’s son, a natural carer, fluently manage our elder guests. What a blessing. His patience and willingness are admirable. I feel mean and nasty beside him. 

My investment in staying young is not at the superficial level. What is taunt skin, and plump lips housing an old mind? I choose to invest in the strength, flexibility and balance of my body, in surrounding myself with young people, their music, language, codes and costumes. Staying current with technology. Challenging myself, sometimes very unsuccessfully, when I notice rigid thinking and a closed mind. 

Aging is a bitch. 

The question is, how well do we partner with aging? 

And another question: when I am that old, who do I need to be to allow younger people to delight in being with me? 

The house is quiet for a precious few hours. I hear the kookaburras laugh. I exhale. 

The silence is restorative. 

Photo Taken December 25th 2025, Article published December 26th 2025