Autumnal blossoming

Getting older doesn’t necessarily mean that one can’t continue to blossom.

I take this advice from the hakea tree just outside my kitchen window.

Here it is, mid April — autumn in the southern hemisphere. A time when dormancy should be the norm. A time when approaching winter cold usually signals the stoppage of flowers coming into bloom.

Not with the hakea. It seems to thrive on the challenge of pushing out white, musky fragrant white flowers on the edge of winter’s doorstep.

The autumn of one’s life doesn’t have to mean conserving what little one has of a diminishing body and mind, but actually bursting forth into something/someone wholly fresh and tasting of the deliciousness of youthful spring flowers.

I’m not just talking about surviving into old age, I’m talking about blossoming into old age.

Sitting around my dining table last week was a group of MONA art tour people whose average age was 65. The oldest (top left corner) was Australian landscape artist John Olsen. At 85 — and despite really bad knees — he exuded, along with charm and wisdom benefiting his age, a childlike curiosity synonymous with eternal spring.

A phrase I constantly hear more frequently now is: “Best to kick back and conserve what’s left of your energy” — “Be careful” — “Only expend energy on things that are appropriate for an elder”.

Fuck this advice. Why should I become just a leafless, flowerless stick hobbling along?

If I have to hobble — a scenario more true than not — may the fragrance of budding delight continue to emanate from my eyes. If I have to crawl, may I look at the ground with the youthful exuberance of a teenager’s first taste of love.