libraries with windows

I was once asked to envision myself and my life in fifty years.

what will be the most important thing to you in fifty years?

the picture that then painted itself in my imagination included high wooden shelves filled with books, a large and very comfortable chair, and a collection of children.

I think they were supposed to be my children's children's children, or something.

and so the things I'm doing today... are they contributing to that picture? who can say? reality never quite seems to end up the same shape or color our mental pictures paint. this image keeps coming back, with varying amounts of gray hair, varying patterns on the upholstery, and varying ages of children.

fifty years is a long time.

will I live that long?

I suppose it doesn't matter so much, the details. I know I'll have the books, at least. which hopefully my seventy-year-old mind will appreciate them in all the best ways and learn from them all the best things.

I probably won't be able to escape the children.