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So here I am-with one foot in my forties (looking younger though-or so my friends say so; and if they are simply merciful in their comments does that make them good or no good friends?).

Sometimes I think of how it will be-the last gasp of air, the beginning of nothingness, the grip of death while I’m still conscious to be aware of what’s happening. Sometimes the picture my imagination paints is almost physically tangible. And, yes, it is scary. I suppose fear of death is instinctive and can not be beaten by reason. Pity, for my reason tells me we’re only truly free in death.