Mirror Image...





mirror image

Who is she,
that woman gazing back
from the mirror, whose
lined face and white 
hair and bag-rimmed
eyes hold a vague familiarity-
and yet seem strangely,
sadly alien?
Where is the smiling girl
who once peered back,
whose skin was fresh and
smooth, whose eyes were
clear and blue, whose days
were filled with purpose and
the seeming clarity of
knowing who she was?
But did she, really?
As she raced from task to
task, donned role after role,
meeting expectation after
expectation- most not
her own- I recall her longing
to stop, to step back, her
yearning for a deeper sense
of who she really was.
And the woman in the 
mirror smiles- and I see my
life etched upon that blessedly
familiar face. I see a sense of
peace which seems to stay, 
even in the midst of life's
unending tumult. I see the
person I have become
while negotiating the daily
storms, my only paddle
a wavering faith that the sun
will  shine again- sometime,
somewhere.
And I smile back, tears
streaming down my life-battered
face- "Good morning, dear one.
Welcome to a new day."  




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