I went for a walk today. 11-11-11 is supposedly a lucky day. I thought I’d try my luck. It was a relatively cool, blustery day, but the sunshine was inviting and I had plenty of time. During my wanderings around our 30 acre Ozark wood, I inadvertently came upon an old worksite. Several years ago, a little garden variety twister came rip-snorting through the property and uprooted several big oaks. Soon after, fully intending to make short work of the cleanup, I spent several hours with my chainsaw, before the novelty of the project wore off and I called it a day. Long story short, I never made it back. As I happened upon the site today, it looks much as it did when I left it several years ago. The limb piles have become home to briar patches and bird roosts, and the trunks that were cut neatly into 18 inch logs have become well established into the landscape while waiting to be split. Surveying the scene it occurred to me, “I” would never be back. During the few years that have passed since “I” temporarily postponed the completion of this project, the middle-aged me has vanished without a trace. During those few short years, my kids have grown and moved away; my dad is gone, and next month I’ll be 60. I’m not sure what became of “me”, and I’m not sure there’s much purpose for what’s left. I spent 60 years trying to make something of myself, and now there’s no demand for the finished product. I don’t share this little missive purely for sympathy. It’s just an observation, and a heads up for those of you in your fifties. Make good use of who you are. One day you’ll wake and find you’re someone else.