"When dawn spreads its paintbrush on the plain, spilling purple... ," Songs of the Pioneers song from TV show "Wagon Train." Dawn on the mythic Santa Fe Trail, New Mexico, looking toward Raton from Cimarron. -- Clarkphoto. A curmudgeon's old-fashioned newspaper column, cross-breeding metaphors and journalism and art, for readers in 150 countries.

Sunday, January 4, 2015

The years creep by, the past fades

Birthday journey, 6" by 14" 140# paper, on my Dad's old oak art table
Birthday. Just a profound word. Day of joys, days of celebration and remembrance, a day of a continuing journey. My mother spent her 71st birthday in the hospital, and died three weeks later. My dad died a month short of his 60th birthday. I know of people who didn't live that long. 
Every day I'm reminded by something to be thankful. There's no time for being negative, with so many blessings in the world. Sorrows, regrets, guilt, tragedies, missed opportunities, sins? Of course, but they are like steps in the sand that fade with time and wind. It's not Jan. 5 here yet, but elsewhere in the world it is.
We trod many paths, and it seems we are alone, but we are and are not. The painting doesn't show the ghosts of people now gone, of friends and families and relatives and loved ones  who have influenced each step. The future is a mystery, waiting the next step.

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