Honeyed. Fresh. Golden. Perfumed with spice. Clear. Keen. Engaging.

This is how I describe my life today, at this moment, on the cusp of another birthday that brings me to the magic number of 57. All numbers have some magic, of course, but this number – oh, this number – sees me overflowing with the sweetness of life, with the sure and certain intuition that focus, intent, and direction of course are aligned. That life follows its true path, like an arrow skillfully loosed…

I hear you, my imaginary friend, bid me bask in the golden moment, while keeping a sharp eye out for the curves and thickets ahead. For we know the road is never straight, and the end is only visible towards the end. Never the less, the delighted anticipation of what is around the curve is a large piece of my joy in life at this moment. There will be a thicket or two, I am sure, but these must be seen to be navigated, and I am not there yet.

Of what is this lyric happiness composed? A glorious summer, with the promise of a spectacular autumn ahead. The practise of craft and the honing of skills. The love of family and friends. You, of course, my imaginary friend, you. And perhaps some would call it the mellowness of aging, but which I think is more the understanding of my own true nature, the willingness to let the real me emerge and be seen.

My twenties – thirties – forties – much came easy to me, though the folk saying of be careful what you wish for comes to mind. I wished, and therefore I got, in those days, only to wonder why it did not satisfy. The genie in the lamp is much more reticent, now; he grants me only what will live in my heart happily. Or, perhaps he grants me the discernment to know what ought to live in my heart…

And you, my imaginary friend, you. You live in my heart…my honeyed, fresh, golden, perfumed with spice, clear, keen, engaging heart. It is a tangled garden, but beautiful for all that, I hope. It does not grow in orderly rows or tidy plantings, but sprawls and runs riot and reaches for the sun and glows with the warmth of the good earth…

Just so, like that. What shall you make of it?