When I was so much younger than I am now, when I could move without pain, when I felt a sparkle of hope in my eye...Those were wondrous years but I was not aware. Time was eroding my body and my mind, relentlessly, and I was not aware. Even now, I don't presume to be fully aware. I do recall, in my youth, writing a little (childish) poem in which I described that youthful period as the time I died. Part of it..."I can't remember who I was, where I went, what I did, I died..." Perhaps I was more aware of the ravages of time, eating away at me, than I knew. Relentless, is the work of time. A foe, indeed. A relentless foe. I could be a Time Traveler. In fact, I am. I travel forward on the straight line or the spiraling arc of time. I can, of course, travel in the opposite direction. Traveling into the past is studying history and lending credence to memories. Otherwise, my time travels go in only one direction. Even though my own time is so limited, without me, it keeps plodding onward and I continue to shed my youth and my self with each passing moment. What is to be done about this? While I have always claimed it's best to leave no trace, I have left traces...sons, grandchildren, stains on the furniture, occasional friends who may remember me...but the traces of my mind, the dreams, the unique experiences of my existence, my real self...those are all encapsulated, never to be available to the rest of humanity, in the clutches of time. I think, as such, it's inevitable that we repeat history and learn so little from its lessons. It's another cold day in Fall City, where the river level is dropping, new snow is falling and the pond is again, mostly frozen over.