west to east

He looks in the mirror and sees mostly blue skies behind him. An odd occurrence, to be sure, as he remembers the sky’s fury. He knows he was just there, and his hair is still wet. But yet, blue skies and one fluffy white cloud. But then he remembers something else: west to east. One storm has passed, sure. One storm rained and moved on. He idly taps fingers on an umbrella as he sees the next thunderhead. This time, he’s ready.

sunsets in due time

He dislikes the idea of a fallible memory, that a memory can be sweeter and more perfect than the reality itself was. As he looks out off of the balcony, he knows the memory will be nothing like what he’s experienced tonight. Parts will be exaggerated, parts cut out entirely. And, when he sees the same scene again, it might be disappointing.

But he hopes not. Maybe this time, his memory is dead on. Maybe the next time he looks out from the balcony, the scene will be just as sweet as he remembers it. But then the sun will set again, and he’ll have to wait through another long day.

But he’s got a hunch: it’s worth waiting for.

who can say?

The trail is crowded today, but that doesn’t matter. The rocks and trees don’t care, and neither does he. Nature is gorgeous and pleasantly cool. Climbs through a cave a couple of times, one that nobody knows about. He enjoys the exclusion. Also the community. Then he sees it.

He wonders why they did it. Perhaps it was too close to the path? He’s unsure. Either way, the caretakers of this place said it needed to come down, so it did. Maybe they didn’t want to cut it? But they had to. Maybe it was hard to change the path so much? But they did it. For the better? He doesn’t know. For good, though.