When I'm 64

Since Friday Paul McCartney has been singing that song in my head. At least he's singing the parts that I remember the words to. Something about knitting sweaters by the fireside, going on Sunday drives. Doing a garden digging the weeds, needing and feeding.

I don't knit, although I do crochet, gas prices are too high for Sunday drives on my income and given that I almost live in the woods, gardens don't survive but oh boy do the weeds. Digging them would be a full time job, and most of them that grow here produce flowers. Queen Anne's Lace, Black Eyed Susans, Buttercups, Wild Sunflowers, Touch-Me-Nots, Forget-me-nots and of course goldenrod and ragweed.

Strangely, the Forget-me-nots are growing on the lawn where Bashful is buried. They are the only wildflower growing here that is a color other than yellow or white. Both the touch-me-nots and forget-me-nots were a new addition this year. I imagine the birds bring the seeds and weeds will take root in any conditions where other things won't.

I tend to admire those weeds from a distance. While they may be attractive they hide a multitude of things that aren't. They share space with poison ivy, provide a resting place for deer ticks that carry Lyme Disease and draw hornets and wasps in large numbers. Good and evil. Light and dark. Positive and negative. Birth and death.

Some people focus on the negative and they spend much of their time destroying the positive to eradicate the negative. Others make the choice to recognize that both exist and choose a path that honors the positive while accepting the negative. There are those that see no positive at all. While they may be beautiful in their own way, they are, after all, weeds.

On the day of my 64th birthday I was standing in the green grass under a gorgeous blue sky admiring what remained of the beauty. The goldenrod and ragweed are enjoying their last hurrah. The wild sunflowers have begun to bow their heads to the coming of cold weather. The trees above them have begun their preparation for the long sleep ahead. The inevitable touches of gold and orange have begun.

There is nothing ahead that has not gone before. No positive can exist without negative. No light without dark in which to shine. No good without evil against which we can measure. No life without death.