Footprints in my snow
Somewhere in the city, there’s a parade underway. I’m not there. Is that why they’ve take to the streets?
Instead, under the umbrella of my headphones, I’m sampling some music that is very much to my taste. I should do this more often. After all, the odds of any of the artists dropping in to my living room for a little unplugged concert are too low to be calculated without finding a slide rule. Yes, I was trained in the use of a “stick”; my children are unaware of the skill set I’ve gathered over the years.
Another day of taxi service and grocery gathering. The weekend is just a punctuation mark on the page of life. I’ll go to bed, ready to face another day without stress or challenge, safe in the realization that there’ll be no war, rebellion, tsunami tomorrow.
My current project for ‘lost time’ involves putting order in an unread library. One more reason to live for a long time yet. Imagine all the things I could do, if I had to…
The oddest thing – there are new footprints in my back yard after every snowfall. I have a suspicion that some young lad from over the way is exploring (for him) uncharted territory. For me, it’s just a curiosity. I’ve checked; the trail goes far beyond my lands, and tends to take the high road (along the top of snowbanks, near hedgerows). I can’t remember if I had the same wanderlust, back when everything seemed tall. I wonder if he imagines wondrous things? Is he invisible (in his mind’s eye)?
