Each Wrinkle Tells a Story

This post is in response to the prompt "wrinkle" issued by Theme Thursday.





I speak in praise of wrinkles.
Wrinkles are the calligraphy of our lives.

They identify us as respected elders, wise mentors, ancestors in training.
Each wrinkle tells a story.

Would I erase these story tellers as if they didn't matter?
Which ones?

Not the ones earned in the birthing, raising, loving and letting go of a daughter.
Not the ones from building countless sand castles at the beach with my grandchildren.
Or those whittled over years of working with and coming to love
the severely and persistently mentally ill.
Or even the ones etched at the death of a child before she was born,
whole and perfect but not yet able to live.
Those wrinkles mirror my being carved into a woman capable of compassion,
connected to every other person suffering loss and collapsed by it.
Each wrinkle tells a story.

I honor the wrinkles on my beloved's face
hard- won as he tenderly cared for his dying sister.
I cherish the ones from his teaching our grandchildren to love the ocean as he does.
I am privileged to know the story told by each of his.

We instinctively have a sense of witnessing when we see an elder's wrinkled face.
Each wrinkle tells a story.
What might happen if we stop and listen?