Mammoth, CA • 2011
The sinking sunlight glazed the red brick of the plaza where I sat in contemplation. I wanted silence. Instead, a repetitive whap, whap, whap fractured the stillness as the wind whipped the strands of slack and empty flag lines on a pole embedded in the concrete. Where are the flags, I wondered? A skateboarder rolled in front of me from one edge of the plaza to the other, wheels clacking like a miniature rail car.
Despite the bright sun, the cold nibbled at the sleeves of the old wool sweater I wore, a scratchy shield against the elements. It was as if the afternoon could not decide its own nature. I felt akin to that afternoon with its diminishing light, inconsistent breezes, rising and falling temperatures. Here am I, I thought.
At sixty, I found myself more devoid of passion than I’d ever been, lifeless as the shadowed buildings looming around the plaza. Vacant. I was an empty storefront after visiting hours. Two rugged young men coasted past me on mountain bikes; the spokes of the wheels sliced and separated the dying sunlight. I raised the paper cup to my lips to sip the tepid coffee, missed and dribbled brown liquid down the front of my sweater, creating a caramel-colored tear drop in the center of my chest.
The sun dropped suddenly behind the rooftops. The cold instantly claimed me and I could sit no longer to ponder my age, or dilemma, or lifelessness. I had to move on.
May 27, 2016
And so I did. To here and now. Another five years and still the deadness persists. Is this aging and dying in its most natural form? I don’t cry, I don’t thrill, I don’t crave, I don’t feel anything in the extreme.
And now it is late…that is, I have all the time and no time simultaneously. John will arrive home soon, and I am still in my nightgown, sitting on the porch sipping tea. Jasmine, the dog, sleeps down the way, shaded by the flower that is her namesake, breathing in the heavy fragrance of the tiny white star blooms.
I am stuck in absolute contentment.
No comments:
Post a Comment