I don’t have much about which to complain.

Oh, I have a plethora of woes but they are not new nor are they unique to me. I suffer my share of health problems. I struggle to make ends meet sometimes.  I second-guess every decision I make. But here in the Delta, things do not seem as dire as they might have in the Midwest.

I often wonder if that is because I left my entire life behind me. I am no longer accountable for any mistake that I made in the first 62 years of my life because no one here knows about them. I can reinvent myself. I can take snippets of what I have been and pieces of where I’ve gone and little remnants of experiences that have impacted my personality and mold them into whatever I choose. I can take as much care as time allows.  I can slough off the wrinkled skin which age would otherwise have brought.

The downside, of course, is that no one shares my history. There is no one here with my DNA or with the patina born from common brush strokes. I have been wondering if I made a good bargain. Regardless, I can only do what my grandmother suggested and put my best foot forward.

It’s the twenty-fifth day of the sixty-fourth month of my year without complaining. Life continues.

A watcher, seen one morning on my way to work. A second later, he lifted into the air. He had a wingspan of eight feet. Perhaps more. It so startled me that I dropped my camera.