Some would say that our hearts and the blood that flows through it, would be so red that it was almost black.
Feeling it beat inside and knowing as a younger person that it had been that dark, that pulsing, beating thing that never stops, that speeds up, slows down, keeps pace with the world, outruns the bad clicks and pounds for the good, and makes its life, my life, beat like a drum for the next moment, for the second, for a beat.
Age does something to that heart, and by age, it is all those things that happen throughout the years; the birth of little ones, children, the grandchildren, seeing the faces of those that have just experienced them coming.
Saying goodbye to those we have loved, and those we have held, at their hearts very last beat, as tears settle in our eyes, and the dark days of memory take over.
Living life, loving, lost in love, loss of living, seeing great birds circle the trees, watching and hearing little children as they cackle and make do with things, as simple as sticks and mud pies, watching the children as they make decisions, you thought that you would always make, and not having anything to say, or not saying anything that you know you shouldn’t.
The color of the heart as it grows older with time can take on new hues. Black and rotten, and mired up in dirt and filth and all things horrible ; or pink, that pinkish-red that explains the days, brings out those fearful nights, reflects that honest prayer so sent in love .
Things have happened. Life keeps moving forward, or at least onward, keep a pink heart, inside you, for always.
Ralph Peck
Photograph by Belva Shelton
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