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To be young, to be open and fearless and curious.  But we burn our hands on the stovetop, we learn to be afraid.  We tumble down the rabbit hole, curiosity weighs against consequence.  Some kind of wonderful sweeps in and handles our heart without care; the doors slam shut.  We grow older, though time is only ancillary to this transformation.  Rather it is through our experiences, and more directly our perception of those experiences, that we lose those precious gifts of youth.  Age is a number, the weather on your body; but to be old, that’s the weather on your soul my friends.  Eyes blue as the ocean, vast as the heavens.  I believe I was as old as I’ll ever become when I was twenty one.  Since then, I’ve only become more young.  Live long.

Spatter