So, I had another birthday, the climate is going all wackydoodle, and our kitty just departed for the land of two-for-one milk shots and lackadaisical mice. I'm not convinced the end is near but it has been calling long-distance a lot this week.
All I can gather from this is that I might not want to wait until I look like Jack Nicholson to draft my bucket list. Or wait until I'm an old woman before I wear purple (moomoos.) Or wait until my caterpillary self turns butterfly before I light out for the meadow.
Time to squish all sixteen legs through the warm dirt. Time to chew a leaf until glowing green juice drips down my chin.
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