prisoners of time

We are all prisoners of time, the elusive physical dimension from which no one can escape. In my tenth decade I'm finding that I nod off rather often, dreaming of my lost youth, the delights and sorrows, joys and occasional sad moments in my long, eventful, happy and thoroughly worthwhile life. I have many regrets, as we all do. The towering regret that overshadows all others is, of course, the absence of my beloved Wendy. When she died in November 2010, I was glad for her sake that I'd behaved as a gentleman should and let her go first.  I'd spared her all the anguish and distress that comes the surviving spouse's way when a long, loving marriage is amputated by the death of one of the partners. We were lovers for 55 years, marriage partners for 54 and a half. But that period of bereavement has gone on longer than I expected or would have wished, if I'd ever paused and thought about it. Fortunately I'm a loner, and I can find enough to keep my mind active. I never feel lonely or sorry for myself. There are much loved books to reread, and worth while new books being published more often than I can keep up with. I have half a dozen on my bedside table. This year too I've written and published a story for children. This story is based on one I made up in 1962 as I've already described in earlier posts on this blog; but almost all the details of the plot, and my attempts to flesh out the characters, background details, etc, are recent creations. What's more, the plots for two sequels have taken shape in my head. I'll sink into senescence and oblivion before I run out of things to say and do. It's a great comfort that I am a willing prisoner of time. I am thankful for all the time I have had, and I'll be pleased to accept however much more I am granted.