Just turned fifty. Getting up in the 5 o’clock hour on Saturday morning and taking a walk just after sunrise seems appropriate (and super fucking awesome) for us at this age: magical, giddy fun.
It’s hard to describe the youthful invigorated surreal energy of being in our fifties wandering around up early on the weekend like this, but it makes me laugh at the pixie archetype being embodied only by young women, when this middle-aged silvery-gold radiance and beautiful freedom feel so fairylike.
