This is the title poem of my recently completed book of personal essays. Earthquakes and Angels So there I was, training again for a flat-water kayak race near our beloved camp in Washington County, Maine. August of 2016, a great interlude in my life: I was 74, but to churn the water for five miles in fifty-odd minutes, and to feel strong enough meanwhile that I could notice the lavish splendors of the neighborhood– well, it all but gave me the illusion that I’d never grow truly old.
Great, Syd. But sad, full of mortality, time, and loss. Such a lot of woe. But written with dignity and grace.
Syd, I admire your fortitude in writing such a personally revealing piece. It’s as beautiful as it is heartbreaking. Thanks.