50 days until 50.  I’ve been thinking about this day for a while. Started ruminating on it when the peak of that hill  came into sight.  I’ve expended some time here.  Searching myself to figure out what I was going to do with this.  I’ve contemplated  how the world will view me at 50, how society will deal with me with my wrinkles and gray and my slowing down.   I’ve rallied behind it and completely hid myself away from it.  So many thoughts cluttering things up.   So much in my head, I thought I could write for days, for 50 days in fact.  I had imagined rendering all these words into a volume of 50 separate unique writings.  As it turns out, I didn’t have THAT much to say.  But  I found enough.  Enough words that I could coax and tease into something that came together to make some sense.  The source of these words, their roots, their origin, their dwelling place, they are many. But those words became my magic dust, the tincture for my apprehension.  50 days until 50.  Stick around, I’ve got some words to share.