Nature

I was born sixty two years ago yesterday, and from the beginning nature has been trying to kill me. Nature has been both subtle and obvious about it. It was obvious on that day in 1949 when nature put the ice and snow on the road that made my dad veer off into a ditch, bouncing the new born baby Alan on his head, and off the floor boards of dad's ancient Ford. More subtle is the psoriasis that nature has cursed me with. Dry, flakey, skin popping up on my elbows, on my forehead, and worst of all, on my unmentionable man parts. I'm sure nature is trying to itch me to death.

I've gone through cancer, a burst appendix, mumps, measles, chicken pox, and an infection in one of my testicles that gave me a 104 degree fever, and blew the offending orb up to the size of a baseball. The only difference between the cancer and the infected testicle is that the testicle cleared up after a few days, otherwise they both sucked the same.

I was not happy when I woke up this morning with a ninety pound dog laying on my throbbing, twisted ankle. All I could think was, there she goes again, nature trying to make me die an agonizing death by dog. After shoving Chandler off the bed, and dragging myself across the floor to the bathroom, I sat there and reflected on turning sixty two. From that vantage point it wasn't very pretty. But after finishing up in the bathroom, I hobbled out to the backyard to feed the cats, and this is what I saw.

Thank you nature.