I opened the vertical blinds in the living room to see the bright copper disk of the sun hanging a minute or less just above the horizon far off towards the Northwest. The room around stared back at me in the failing light and I thought of the moment in time when each of my parents respectively saw this same orb for their very last time of immediate recall? That final moment before final darkness descended over them like a woolen blanket. And they then began to dream their last of that faraway place as of yet unable to be imagined by those who have yet to have been embarked. I hoped for the fact that their might indeed be a savior who would come to aid them. To take them respectively on that final journey to someplace safe and welcoming. The untold pains and apprehensions of this world laid down behind them with all their material woes and put to rest. I had become too familiar with pictures staring out from every corner of the room now. The clarity of my awareness of them in repeative viewing locking out other more fragile impressions from a narrowing field of view of more immediate recollection. I could still recall sharp slices of flashing moments here and there.
The Sun’s brilliance was now actively being cooled in its disappearance behind the silhouette of the horizon. The atmosphere just above it glowing reddish as its mighty ember died. It seemed that when one’s spirit grew tiny and finally departed the flesh it make a similar transit? All my heroes were dead now leaving those all to fallible members of a human race destined only to fumble around spilling over the fittest answers in the dark. I sat there with that melancholy music of my childhood to keep this perpetual longing for loneliness company. The real world around me had long ago faded into gray. It was a black and white existence painted by a kind of coloration that was too regularly summoned only by thoughts from the past. The present always lurking in the flavors of seeming just an instant ago. That initial random feeling of discovery now perfectly overlapping over a half a century later.
For a human the strict progression of years has a finite meaning. A year is distance. And five years a memory of what was not so long ago. A decade was back then. Twenty years a completely new lease on life. And fifty years part of another person’s existence. A random aroma or a song sung in an old familiar way immediately cutting through to any one of these instants like lightning attempting to summon that very next moment that never came to pass. But that in the lucid glare of hindsight, one wished that had simply followed. These sorts of imps hid about all the old familiar places. That ones that he no longer had the time or emotional energy to further address. Yet on these rare milestones of holidays would be routinely released as if on parole. That word’s meaning mixed equally with a sense of enjoyment decanted from old contentment’s that have no practical level of companionship to be shared with the living. Like those singers of old that have long ago lost the ability of their voice to sound long remembered melodies. Their passions sealed in a bottle. With everyone still left around waiting impatiently to hear them once again. But no way to let them out.