Tom looked into the mirror. He didn't look that different from the last time he weighed in on his Self but he wondered how many times had he stared at his own face while: shaving, brushing his teeth, putting contact lenses in his eyes, and hadn't noticed himself looking back.
He looked out the window at a grey and impatient sky and the brittle leaves brushing up against the red brick. People scurried below with a new but familiar haste; their heads cupped deep into their scarves like pigeons into their plumage into cool wind. He noticed that his bare feet were cold only because it would be the only time in 5 months that they would be required to let him know.
For the first time in as long as he could remember, he would cook breakfast and have a coffee by himself in his small apartment and read the newspaper. He'd forgotten about the world and felt it was time to check in again. After breakfast he poked around his apartment: cleaning and fixing odd things that required that small (but necessary) bit of attention. Among these were his plants, which now sagged- waiting patiently for just a sip of water. When he finally fed them he felt guilty that he could be so neglectful of these few things that depended on him; things that could so easily be cared for and in reality required very little maintenance in the first place.
Thankfully, like so many relationships of reciprocity, his plants could endure just enough drought to survive. He wondered about those who had forgotten about him like he’d forgotten about his plants; resolving to offer them an unspoken forgiveness in exchange for his own guilt.
Isn't Life just like that? He thought. With summer come and gone and Labor Day deep in his rearview mirror it was time to look forward. "You can't keep running on the same tires and you can't drive forever with out stopping for gas," he thought. Tom noticed, during these fermatas in time, the minor repairs that need be done. Evaluating what had come to pass, Tom considered the lessons learned and applied them to his plans for the future.
Maybe it wasn't so bad that so many good things in life would come to an end. Maybe life's challenge was its Endless Cyclical Format; constantly changing the variables: thus demanding our continual change and adaptation as we struggle to achieve our abstract ideals. When Tom realized the correlation between times of reflection and the changing seasons, it seemed less coincidental but rather: quite obvious.
Like the loss of or end of any: thing, person, or time in your life; there comes a requisite mourning; it happens all the time, in some capacity or another; everyday even; beginnings and ends; over and over again.
He cleaned the window inside and out before closing it for the long cold months that lay ahead; he wiped it down diligently so that the sun would be welcome to pass through with ease should it choose to visit; a small but poignant, defiant act to engage the coming season and its impending and inherent challenges.
He yawned, stretched out his stiff back: reaching for the ceiling with his fists clenched. A smile began to stretch across his face as he considered the new season and everything it would offer him whence he pulled his coat from the closet and braved the stubborn Canadian cold.
Days of Late Vol 1 & 2
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