He was 100 years old!
Still chugging away, he did his thing, not getting rich but having a blast.
His wife, a young woman of 96, chugged along too.
They had seen the world and now lived at home, loving life, and still making waves.
He wrote each day, not worrying about what would come.
Something always did.
He tuned in to infinite possibilities and plucked them into submission and relevance.
He was a lighthouse and bridge writer.
There were others in history, but they didn’t always realize it.
He did.
He gave light, then provided a bridge to tomorrow.
It’s what kept him alive all these years.
Remembering when he was 78, he thanked his lucky stars he didn’t give up and kept writing every day.
It’s the life-giving force of words, meaning, and everything in between.
He hoped he had a few years left.
There was still much left to do.
He got back to work.
