“What are you afraid of?” he asked me, as we walked a boardwalk across a northern portion of the Everglades. The swamp was still, trees rising out of solid green algae. He told me the water is moving, slowly, slowly, even if we can’t see it. Otherwise, we’d be swarmed by mosquitoes.
I said the only thing I could think of, growing old and feeling like I’ve never done anything worthwhile.
“So it’s like a big existential thing?” he asked, and I said yes, I guess.