An odd, yet not uninteresting, morning reflection…

Most morning I don’t wake up all aflutter with thoughts of my own mortality. Time, eventually, will have its way with me although I do take the usual precautions to maximize my chances. In any case, usually I am more consumed by contemplations of breakfast, my favourite morning meal.

Today, though breakfast was close to the top of my list of eagerly anticipated activities, along with my frequent Wednesday morning Pickleball Tournament, I had fallen asleep the night before beginning to read Atul Gawande’s excellent meditation, Being Mortal.

Hence, I was more available to thoughts of impermanence.

Most mornings, I also write. The means vary but my intent is to begin each day with a creation, something of worth to me if to no one else.

I write reams of flash fiction. Today, there was a new (and first for me) challenge from writer/blogger Sacha Black.

This was the challenge:

Wherever you’re sat, whatever you’re doing. Scan the vicinity for the nearest document/book/magazine etc. you haven’t written. Pick it up.

If it’s a book turn to page 77, Take the tenth, thirty-third and the last word, then pick the longest word you can find on the rest of the page.

Write a story or poem in less than 100 words containing all the words. AND I want to know what the words are when you post your story.

This was my submission:

Moments

I look ahead and MY world

seems destined to dissolve

into tiny fragments,

shards of unexamined lives,

comfortable experiences

I will not enjoy,

lips, untouched,

skin, sweet skin,

wine left wanting.

I look back,

nostalgic, of course,

and vaguely disappointed

at myself,

at the hurried loss

of the decades,

my times,

which I aimlessly let slip by

like grains of sand,

why,

always,

grains of sand?

Why?

I am stilled

by an inertia,

of moments

yet to be,

never to be

for me.

Moments!

Bill Engleson

The book, just to my left, atop a sad bit of paper clutter, No Regrets by Larry Gambone

the words on pg. 77

Decades

Tiny

My

Disappointed (although mimeographed was also 12 letters)

Pickle Ball was fun. I am still alive. I will have breakfast tomorrow, see an old friend and get back to reading Being Mortal.

 

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