Lately I find myself thinking about death a lot. Not in a morbid sense, just reflecting on the reality of it. The necessity of death for the rebirth of spring. The triumph of spring over the desolation of winter.
I’m not afraid of death, exactly. I’m not eager for it, but it’s harder to “fit in” to the world around me now and I don’t want to outlive my expiration date. I’m just not finished yet, there is still more to do, more to be.
This surprises me. By now I expected to be wise, surefooted and content to sit placidly with a cat or two, awash in memories of a life well lived.
Guess not. Maybe in a year or two.