My summer picture face is just fine.

Pictures show a joy-filled smile in the sunshine.

In the mirror, I am less satisfied.

My face has been touched by gravity.

Sixty-three years of gravity.

Wrinkles and age spots are minor, so I can’t whine.

My generation began summer with a sunburn, if possible, soaked in ocean brine.

Summer was lived outdoors, from sunup to sundown.

But my face seems to frown because of this gravity.

I don’t mind age, but I despise gravity.