Winter Tales and Summer Blues.

I saw "A Winter's Tale" today. Courtesy of the MFA at the Shakespeare festival here in Montgomery.

Decent play, great acting. Promise and passion unfolds on the stage in part because the actors are so young, so fresh, so full of hopes and dreams and thoughts of a future spanning decades.

I no longer think of decades. More often I think about tomorrow. Or perhaps the tentative plan for the next stage. No further does my mind wander. There is a gulf in my imagination between the ages of 32 and 50. For those 18 years I have no idea what I will do or where I will go. I doubt children. I even doubt a wife. Perhaps a handful of lovers with more permanence and dedication than the current batch, but never a lifetime promised in an instant.

I have become a gypsy. More on that in another post. I bite sharks. Also more on that in another post. Life has become a series of exits. A running staccato of goodbyes and insistances that I have no more regrets than I have scruples.

It's a fun life, and I live it with a fervour rarely rivaled even by the rich or the insane. I run a race not because the finish line is before me, but because my past keeps me moving as fast as I can travel.

And I guess I'm growing to like it that way.