I know that beauty is vain, and that it only goes skin deep, but sometimes the feminine in me wants to decorate myself with curls, a beautiful dress and a faint spritz of fragrance. I felt like Juliet this evening, ready to hear my Romeo call out to me, and I run to meet him with beauty emanating from the inside out.
"How is your head?" my husband broke into my romanticized revere to find out if I still had a headache.
"It's in the clouds!" I reply with an air of mysticism.
I am finding my forties to be interesting- sort of a desperate pull between the past and what remains in the future. I have never even read Romeo and Juliet, but now I am contemplating checking it out at the library. Or maybe I will read the Knights of the Round Table.
Yesterday I held up a picture of myself when I was in my twenties, in the mirror next to my rapidly aging face. "Ugh! It IS true. I am getting old. There is no way around it. Is there romance and adventure left for me yet?
Today, I just want to be beautiful. I will be as beautiful and God will afford me to be. No matter what my age, I am still a woman, and this woman cherishes beauty.
