The days grow shorter, faster, time speeds through my body like a rocket at maximum velocity. I find I am perplexed at all this.  

 I figure it's time to have a talk with Mother Nature to find out why and when and how come I didn’t know it happened that I got older than dirt. 

 She says to me in her very best intellectual, sort of Elsa Lancaster voice, your fruit is veddy dry now and there is no use for your incredibly hard, dense seed.  In fact, she says, it is so hard a kernel of it could crack a mountain. 

 I say, Hell Mother dude, you are cold.  Couldn’t you have been a little easier on me?

 She looks down her nose at me with that don’t be such a smart ass and don't you call me dude look. 

Well....you’re still pretty zesty, she says, and thick and rich with oil and the knowledge of who you have been and what will come.  (Boy did that ever make me laugh…”thick and rich”.  HA!   And pul-lease if I knew what was coming Id’ve cleaned up in the Market!)

Then she goes on and on about pith this and zesty that and how I should sprinkle it around and then move along now (getting to her point).  You’re taking up room better held by the young, it’s time to pass along. 

Hooo...what a crock, I'm thinking! 

So I told her no.  Nope.  I’m not moving.  They will have to come and take it from me, evict this decrepit, wrinkled ass.  They will have to beat me over the head with big sticks and drag me out of here kicking and screaming because I’m not going.  I’m not going.  I am NOT going.  I will share it all but my time and this space is mine.   So step aside lady.  You’re in my way and I got some pithing and zesting to take care of.