I’ve made an important rediscovery.
People’s faces are beautiful. They come in all configurations and sizes. The distinctive and expressive wrinkles that cross their cheeks and surround their eyes sketch the personal stories that have made their lives unique.
I’ve missed reading the stories of elder faces the most. To me, an aged face is a form of poetry, or a masterful painting. Children’s faces are merely the canvas. The brush of life has barely touched their soft skin.
Give me the face of a 90-year-old and let me marvel at its history. So much has gone into each line. Mark Twain could not write a more intriguing plot.
As masks are removed from most faces in my little community, I rejoice in seeing so many wonderful stories in my grocery store, my favorite park and in my office.
I couldn’t be happier.