I have just read your wonderful essay at When Falls the Coliseum, and (among the many details that provoked me to many different thoughts) one detail hit me rather directly. When you saw your reflection in the store window, it reminded me of my similar experiences (not including the passing woman) when I have unexpectedly encountered my reflection and have wondered, "Who on earth is that?" Then, in a humbling second, I realize that the senior citizen in the reflection is me, which is a deeply felt shocked since m mind somehow persuades me most of the time that I am still something like 20 or 30 years old. Alas, though, in a cruel but illuminating irony, reflections are realities, and the details in those reflections include some rather shadowy deeps.
I have just read your wonderful essay at When Falls the Coliseum, and (among the many details that provoked me to many different thoughts) one detail hit me rather directly. When you saw your reflection in the store window, it reminded me of my similar experiences (not including the passing woman) when I have unexpectedly encountered my reflection and have wondered, "Who on earth is that?" Then, in a humbling second, I realize that the senior citizen in the reflection is me, which is a deeply felt shocked since m mind somehow persuades me most of the time that I am still something like 20 or 30 years old. Alas, though, in a cruel but illuminating irony, reflections are realities, and the details in those reflections include some rather shadowy deeps.
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