I'm past 60 where life seems a little quieter, more patient, less demanding, less contentious. Folks long gone are more remembered; childhood is more missed, youth is forgiven. With the grey hair, that I'm still vain enough to dye, has come the understanding that life isn't forever and if I have something left to do, I better get with it.
Coming Home after a long day I found this little visitor on the handrail by the steps to our door. It was a cheerful little reminder that life really is wonderful and God does love me, in spite of myself.
It was just a long hard day, one of the ones I'd almost rather not discuss (which always means my cowboy and I had a 'falling out'). The moral of that story is don't try working cows if you don't have enough time; the only thing that happens is every one gets grumpy and nothing good ever gets accomplished.