Burlap-like irregularities are scattered across my face, foreign invaders in a war they are destined to win, for time is their leader. As I stare, skin tags start to appear on my neck and chest like mushrooms showing themselves on a dank forest floor. Flesh sags off the bones of my face, demarcated by fatty folds and permanently creased lines. I have melded into a bizarre representation of my mother and father and it is not very appealing. I lay the mirror down and I struggle to rise. It is easier to feel time go by than to watch it.
Sandra Hudson is a retired nurse with a love of reading, writing, and travel. Her family is her center and art feeds her soul!