“You have grey hair,” said Don Eli, looking up from his dinner plate at Sacred Grounds. We’ve known each other for ten years. True enough, our hair color has both changed to a much lighter shade since we first met. There was a time when we saw each other every Wednesday, until Don decided to hang out on Haight Street reciting poetry for money. There must have been a gap of six, seven years before he popped back into Sacred Grounds again. His observation was a reminder of how time has passed.
“I’m proud of my grey hair,” I said. “This is an achievement, not without effort.”
Don agreed.
The photo: who wouldn’t want to look like that!
(We don’t see time in the photo: we see joy. More a source of pride than the gray hairs that come to everyone.)