Not even a memory.

I'm not always sure how I should be perceiving the world. Whether it's a warm and cozy and comfortable place. Or if it's a scary place. On one hand, I think of Mother Earth as an armed camp, full of rogues and dangerous and dumb people. But then, I remind myself that I'm in love. With life. Right here. And that I really live in Paradise. Maybe because I don't see and experience the whole world. Just a small, limited portion of it. Mostly in Minnesota and Sardinia. I avoid the truly troubled spots. Or just happen to be lucky. Anyway, I've survived for 76 years, and counting. And life has been enjoyable. For the most part. Really, I have few complaints. I merely fear what might happen. And I go on living. One day at a time. Keeping my fingers crossed. That I don't encounter a string of bad luck or bad experiences. So far, I've been able to make the best of any bad situation. And I've managed to live happily and reasonably well. In my cocoon. My little niche in the world. Without a major calamity. Does that make me a fortunate or blessed one? Maybe. I'm more an optimist than a pessimist. But still, I have this nagging fear. That everything will go kaput. Some day. That the world will fall apart. That life will end. And that nothing will exist. Not even a memory. --Jim Broede