Foggy morning, gusty and the grass is wet with the rain from the night. Its cool still and to the left of me is an old shack where the old man used to sleep. To the left is a rusted stairway, its steps leading upward with no ending in sight. To the right are steps which lead to a lower level – no handrails and nothing to hold on to.
Illuminating aroma from the neighborhood tavern, something must be brewin’.
Time is running out as the hourglass shows its well past over…I wonder what could I have done better, different?
Written words left in my wastebasket – crumpled and used as a ball.
I should have been a healer, I feel I have broken way too many things over the years which can never be re-assembled.
Puzzle pieces missing, scar on my chest and a gaping hole where I used to live.
Clear afternoon, the wind has blown the fog away and the streets are sunbathed and dry. The temperature has risen and there is a kings palace where the old man’s shack used to be. I step away from the stairway and keep clear from the steps to the right of me.
Invigorating aroma coming from the coffee house across the way…time to get movin’.