Tuesday, August 18, 2015

The End is Near (for Consuella)


I have a friend (even though she’s only on Facebook these days)
Who last week was alarmed when she came to the realization that
Friday was indeed only Thursday, or was it the other way around?

Old age, some of us have discovered, has a way of playing tricks
on the mind. And one of those moments struck me hard this mor-
ning as I looked into the bathroom mirror.

When you are young, the aging process is a subtle, barely neg-
ligible process which most days is not even perceptible to the
youthful human eye of denial.

Oh, a stray and errant gray hair here and there can be success-
fully eliminated with a swift and decisive plucking tweezer ma-
neuver.

But when you have exceeded the age limit of sixty-years, pro-
found changes in physical appearance are to be expected as
part and parcel of one’s daily routine.

Anyway, today I chanced looking into the bathroom mirror while
washing my hands. My days are numbered, I surmised, and I am
chilled. Oh, the darkness is calling. I feel it in my weary bones.

Time, oh time, you cruel and indiscriminant executioner; the
world is growing dimmer. And in a moment’s desperation I
looked up toward the heavens in prayer.

It was then I realized that I was not fading as fast as the vivid
imagination plaguing my head; the dimming of light was in fact
a matter of a burned-out light bulb instead.


Chris Hanch  8-18-15

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