I haven't forgotten the poem from last year:
The second half of my life will be wide-eyed,
fingers shifting through fine sands,
arms loose at my sides, wandering feet.
There will be new dreams every night,
and the drapes will never be closed.
I will toss my string of keys into a deep
well and old letters into the grate.
The second half of my life will be ice
breaking up on the river, rain
soaking the fields, a hand
held out, a fire,
and smoke going
upward, always up.
Because it's such a good poem to contemplate on such a day, the day that I turn yet another year older. Nothing better, really, comes to mind. I hope that I'll always be able to manage a smile, always be able to hold a camera in my hands, always be able to learn and inspire and wonder and dream.
Happy Valentine's Day, again.