While freedom excites
songs of praise, flight is lonely
above the prison.
When all our nests stand empty,
will someone ask where we’ve gone?
In our different stages of life, we devote ourselves to various dreams. I remember that I could hardly wait to leave the university so I could experience “real life.” Yet, so many years later, I’m still nostalgic for that freedom to study. The years of nest-building and accumulation come and go, leaving us mostly with the stuff of yard sales and the bittersweet satisfaction of watching our fledglings take flight. Now, in the third age, with all its freedoms, limited only by arthritis, the search for meaning takes on some urgency. I stand here holding a key, but where is the lock?