The midlife shell

The clamshell that we must open

One that may not even have a pearl

But sustain us with its flesh

And shelter us in its shell

As the Midlife shell closes and the last beams of Juvenlight fade

There comes that call as typical and predictable as the Jung cycle of life

The body will ache from planting and cultivating

Not annual crops

But tall thickly trunked trees, years later heavily laden with fruit