Well, last night Wendy and I had a long postprandial conversation and, as is usually the case in conversations I have with Wendy, I came away with something I think worth sharing. I realized from what we had been talking about - family, growing up, etc. - that there is no real curve to life - a beginning, a middle, and an end, a resolution of a sort. It is all middle. If one is at all alert, it is just as mysterious as you near the end as it is from the beginning. The only difference is that, as your near curtain call, the sense of ... I don't quite know what to call it, though I feel it continuously. A certain apprehension for sure. One approaches the unknown. One does not feel fear. At least I don't. I feel ... on edge, alert to every nuance of being, even, I must sadly admit, on guard.
By the way, Wendy made a most pertinent comment about the poem I posted yesterday. She noticed how right it was that I used the contraction "What's," and not the phrase "what is."
