When I am an old woman I will be right here. I will move my pen across the page. I will have piles of journals filled with thoughts and poems and a life well lived. When I am an old woman, I will have a garden rich with wildflowers–lavender and salvia, rosemary and all the many flowers I love so much whose names I do not yet know. When I am an old woman, my children will come visit and stay for hours, days, weeks, years. Their children will come in tow and will gallop across the lawn, climb trees, splash in the sprinkler and the pool. When I am an old woman I will hear the sea from my bedroom window–the crashing of waves. Or I will live under the wide open desert sky, the sun reflecting pink and orange on the distance hills.
When I am an old woman there will be no bones about anything. I will speak the truth with a love that rings out beyond this world, comes from some deeper knowing place that is not concerned with being liked or good or with silly things like approval. I will only worry myself with the truth. When I am an old woman I will have gray hair and wrinkles around my eyes. I will have breasts and belly that sag with age and breast feeding and menopause and child birth. I will be beautiful and whole. I will be strong, walk in the hills and greet the sun every day, arms outstretched to the sky. I will be a warrior of this life. A woman who lived and loved well, with her whole self.
When I am an old woman I will throw myself at the world, arms wide open, let it all in and also say no to anything or anyone who steals my peace. No to fear. I will watch it rise, I suppose, greet it and set it aside. ‘You can rest here, dear one. I have more living to do.’ When I am an old woman I will be strong and tender, loving and firm. I will start today so that no one is shocked, so they recognise me as myself.