On the edge

If you live long enough, you realize that people do change. Even as you realize that they may or may not change in ways we want them to. I don't know when I went from loving the centers of things to enjoying the edges. I'm sure part of it was nurture. Mom refused to cut crusts off my bread. For some reason no one believed that the cat ate the center of the cherry pie. But now I appreciate the crust of a good, please read homemade, pie. And not one made with a food processor, either. The crunchy crust of good bread or rolls, the skin of a potato. And while I enjoy my steaks rare to medium-rare, the well-done edge of a roast makes a lovely cook's snack. Or turkey skin from over the dressing. Or...

But other edges have always intrigued me. The sea strand. the view from the edge of a cliff, not always the distance, but the edge of the cliff, near, contrasting with the distant view of sea or mountain. Light on the edge of a cloud, that silver lining we are told to look for. Today I spotted the edge of the fog. Near things clear and bright but the distance not as easy to spot.

Perhaps the edge thing was always there or it is a change in perspective like beginning to look outside one's self as we move toward adulthood. Middles are ok, but edges are the starts of everything else.