A smiling granny cruising the streets fast (and I mean fast) on her rollator, bag in basket, with no nonsense jeans on, with her hair and scarf waving in the wind, sunglasses securely in place

A scene in street lined with houses and gardens: An elderly person observes a neighbour slugging his way to the mailbox before saying defiantly “Well, I’m not fit but I’m not that bad off, either”.

Another time, another scene: A relative asks an elderly man how he and his wife have been. This elderly man with white hair and a frail, sunken frame is known for his charm and sharp wit. Though this time, he stays silent for a while before answering “Could be a bit younger”. A heavy silence with a sad echo follows.

Beying old isn’t all puppies and rainbows, for all I know. In spite that, let’s celebrate that wind caressing our cheeks, the thrill of the moment, the enjoyment we do feel, when we feel it, each step (or ride) along the way.