Over the last few years I have become aware that no matter how "young at heart" I feel, Time the Avenger is beginning to whistle his tune on a park bench somewhere in my neighborhood. As of this writing I am 54 years...old, but in fine health and good spirits. Good job, great family, own my house (in loose cooperation with The Bank, of course), and lots of fun things to do on the side.
Yet still strange thoughts have entered my cranium: I am a small boy in Connecticut and I am watching a young woman (Mom?) hanging the wash out to dry on a square clothes hanger outdoors. I can smell the clean, damp linen as it snaps in the cool breeze, hear the slight creak of each wooden clothespin as she attaches more items to the lines. The sky is impossibly blue, studded with puffy white clouds.
The woman is happy at her work, and she smiles at me from time to time. It must be Mom. that's the face that keeps popping in there. I am sitting on the green, green grass, thinking only of the very moment I keep remembering. The whole scene is barely five minutes or so but I could watch it for hours.
It occurs to me that this may be the last image I see before the guy with the scythe beckons me to The Other Side.
And that's.....OK.
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