As I take in the trash cans for the billionth time, a general malaise washes over me, and I wonder if it’s this moment in time we’re in.
Uncertainty, everyone says. What’s next? And the people in the control tower tell us, once again, to hold on while the ship goes under. Time your breaths, people.
Or maybe it’s not those guys in the tower, but me, trying to ignore a chorus of quiet whispers coming in through the tunnels I never explored, teasing me about the things I could have done. Or been.
Not enough lives in one lifetime.
But maybe this isn’t something to ponder. It’s only that I’ve seen so many moons, that the golden slivers of light on the waves have become familiar.
Not a bad thing. Just tired eyes and pumping heart. Working against each other.
The barnacled knot of existence. Highs and lows. Too much analysis of a thing that should be left alone.
Back to the basics.
Garage door code, unoiled hinges, boxes stacked. Framed in the evening light. How is it 7 o’clock already? And June?
I put the cans back in a different order.
Take that, universe.