Disappearing of the Sun

It’s late in the afternoon, 7:53 to be exact. Against my own laziness, I decided to come back outside. We had fried chicken, mash potatoes and gravy for supper. Not exactly a healthy meal, but least the chicken was prepared in an air fryer. I had one piece of chicken and a single serving of potatoes and gravy, no margarine. The little old lady from down the street is taking the kids she watches around the block trying to wear them out. All while I sip lemon tea and watch the sun disappear.

It’s not much to write home about, but my Grandma Thornton would send letters to my Dad with similar sentiments. The art of the tale doesn’t always have to have any direct meaning. But thousands of years of storytelling always makes for a good evening. I don’t have any friends left to hang around the fire. Most of my family is just so far away my tired bones can’t handle the strain. So I sit in my isolation with the birds, the sycamores, and the occasional cat keeping me company.

A kitten tries her best to seek up on her momma. Her momma eyeing me like she’s trying to say, seriously? Moments in silent observation are often the best medicine. Private conversation and banter work as well. In this impatient hurry up and wait world, it never hurts to pause and just be. To stop asking yourself questions or worry about your next life choice. The answers will eventually come, they only require the disappearing of the sun.