A friend -- well, not so much friend as blogger-whom-I-greatly-admire -- recently posted a comment about aging, and assessing the fore and aft of one's life. Her son recently asked her "How's your life working out for you, Mom?"
God, what a question.
How is my life working out for me?
I need to ponder that one a while. There are many many things which, to outsiders, would appear gifts. There are accomplishments and fun and art and music and friends.
So why is so much of that shadowed and foggy, hidden behind a gray landscape of burnt castles and twisted pathways leading, all of them, to cliffs?