Many years ago when we traveled from California to Spain

(the trip of a lifetime!),

we bought a painting that both my husband and I liked.

I don't know why my husband liked it,

but I liked it because it showed a little dark-haired girl sitting on a step watching two boys pretend to be in a bullfight (red flag and sticks dressing up their imaginary contest).

I imagined that little girl wondering,

why do they think that's fun,

this fighting?

So often I feel like that little girl, befuddled by the crazy

goings-on in the world,

sitting on my perch,

gazing, wondering, not understanding.

I was on the young side of middle age when we bought that painting,

now I am on the young side of old age, getting closer to the end of the road of life.

Still befuddled by the goings-on,

so much drama, so much trauma-- choices? fate? A blend of both perhaps?

I am humbled by the torrential mysteries that appear before me,

I understand less and less,

but one thing I have learned to do--

to sit,

to gaze,

to shake my head

and smile,

like that little girl

on the step.