Middle-Aged

I went out for a walk in the snow this morning and found myself up on the cemetery hill behind the farm - a cache of Ledfords who all died from yellow fever or something in 1912. I could look across the fields and down toward J*'s house, with little I* running around in the front yard.
I couldn't shake the vision from my head. I kept thinking about it all day, including all afternoon when I was in my house.
My house lies right in the middle, between the cemetery hill and I*. Between the long dead and the newly born, you'll find me.
With nothing better to do on a snowy afternoon, I decided to make much more of this than any rational person should.
Thus, the thought I am left with is that that is what one does with one's life: think too much while some slumber and others play.
This was driven home all the moreso when I went out to the greenhouse for a little tidying activity. There I was, working and thinking about how to pay the bills, while some slumbered and some played. Is that what one does in between? It seems so. At least, that's what I did today.
I got a little cheered up a little later on, though, when it occurred to me that I wouldn't want to change places with either other party.