If I asked you to go and look in the mirror, and tell me who it is you see, you’ll most likely want to answer.. “Well me of course!”
But is that strictly true?
The mirror can only give us a refection of our outer selves, the real us is inside, and sometimes the person within, has no relation to the image in the mirror.
My inner self still feels young, I have so much zest for life, travels and adventures, I often dream of running across an open field like Laura Ingles, or dancing on a roof in the moonlight, I think of skinny dipping at sun set in the cool ocean, dancing to a guitar on a moonlit beach.
Climbing a mountain to the very top, looking down on the world below and lifting my arms to the sky and screaming “I’m alive!”
Riding a horse at full gallop with my hair in the wind across an open plain, or even just riding a hay wagon drawn by horses, as I munch on a melon as the cart rattles its’ gentle way through farmlands.
Dreams? Ambitions? I don’t know, but the woman in the mirror has certainly not the body to go skinny dipping, I haven’t ridden a horse in years, and no-one uses hay wagons any more these days.
My face has formed lines and I am not the young sprightly teenager I once was, I look in the mirror and see a woman nearing 50, menopause taking hold, feeling and looking tired, whilst the inner me lives on, thriving, continually existing inside.
As for my hair.. its autumn sunrise..
(I know cos it says so on the bottle)
  
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