Tomorrow is my sixtieth birthday.
For twenty-seven years,
I walked through life as others do.
For the next thirty-three,
I traveled it on wheels.
So what am I celebrating—
the years when my legs carried me,
or the years when my arms learned to?
I honestly do not know.
But sixty years is still sixty years—
a life lived through sunlight and storm.
Tomorrow, I think,
I will celebrate the whole of it:
the light, the shadow, and the road between them.
