Looking out my Backdoor: Where lines converge

When passing by a mirror this morning, I thought, “Lord, oh dear, I’m composting.” Well, aren’t we all but that’s no consolation.

Which thought led me to a memory that shook me to my bones. My Aunt Mary, at 90, who had composted a lot by that time, said to me, “I’ve outlived all my friends. There is nobody with whom I can talk about how it used to be.

“And many can’t hear me when I talk about how it is now,” she continued.

Which memory led me to several threads, lines converging to a point of shared thoughts and ideas.

That’s what it often feels like living here. I have no history shared. I ha...