A birthday poem. For me. By me.
Perspective Juliana Spink Mills, March 2021 The older I get the less I know about myself. My certainties are shaken loose, washed clean and clear by the pitter-patter rain of days, and months, and years gone by. I find new things about myself, every day. Blooming from within; spring bulbs rising above the debris of last autumn's leaves, shedding layers as the river birch sheds paper-thin slivers of bark. Time brings wisdom, they say. Time is knowledge. But time is, above all, freedom to set aside that which others have accidentally imposed upon me in the way they perceive how I exist. As the years wash against me like waves on a beach, I find I do not need other people to define me as I once did. Time has bought me space and perspective, and now I begin to see myself for who I am.