‘Nuff said, as they say.
THIS MORNING dawned cool and gray.
At 8 a.m. the thermometer on the upstairs terraza measured 58 degrees. It felt cooler. Fall is in the air.
More notable is that the Day of the Dead is near. As my child bride noted while walking the neighborhood plaza yesterday, practicing her English: It feels like a dead day.
Oh, well. She tries.
Noticing that it looked like a dead day this morning, I toted the Canon out on the terraza to make this sweep. There toward the end, you can see a lamp lit in the left window.
That’s where I sit to write this stuff.
On both dead days and lively ones.
Stuck as I am this morning between Halloween and the Day of the Dead, one’s thoughts easily wander toward the end of time.
Through all of one’s adult life, it’s known that it will end one day, but it’s a vague perception. That finale is up thataway. You really don’t dwell on it much. It’s an intellectual concept, not raw meat that bleeds.
The future is always there, plenty of distance to live your dreams.
And then it changes. Not overnight. It’s a gradual switch that you slide into. The future begins to fade, and life becomes more immediate, more about today.
On one level, it’s a good thing. The Buddhists say to live in the moment, and you begin to do that without effort. But you know the thump in the night will come.
* * * *
(Tip of the sombrero to Ray Clifton for bringing this to mind.)