Gray hairs seem to my fancy like the soft light of the moon, silvering over the evening of life.

Later life has a light of its own, quieter than the one it follows. Less heat, less glare, and more of the world visible because of it. That is not the same as saying nothing is lost; plenty is, and the loss is real. But there is a kind of seeing that only arrives once the urgency has gone out of things, and it is worth noticing when it does.

If you are further along than you once imagined being, look for what you can see now that you could not see at thirty. Say one of those things out loud to someone younger who is still in the glare.