We are all shadows of our former self. Shadows disseminating into reverberations of lost days filled with wonder and blissful chaos. Those days will never return for now having grown we understand too much. We understand time now and all its machinations and nuances are laid bare. Its sly gift of health in youth that wandered in rapture over golden summers now gutters and slowly extinguishes within the march of age. Yet there is no despair, no anger for though a lifetime slips away nothing can stop our existential path toward perfection. We have gathered vigorously and now spend and though the reaper must come one long day off when our lives are wrapped in a burnished autumn glow of joy. We are at last content.