There are no winners

 

I can’t help but see Father Time as an advancing army, forever pushing gray whiskers out of my face and leaving wrinkles behind instead of footprints.   He is relentless, never retreating, conquering a knee and holding his position until reinforcement arrives.  Creating smoke screens to disrupt my line-of-sight.  Lobbing mortar rounds at my hip, like warning shots. 

He is clever, this one.  Timing his attacks, slowing but never stopping.  It is impossible to send a letter home, nothing can get through.  Even these time-release pills are no match for his attacks.  But I cannot give up, I must never surrender, for I carry the battlefield with me, albeit bent and smoldering, fight still remains.

 

 

 

 

    zc