I found myself sitting in the darkness of an abandoned church looking up at the moon alongside a best friend. The last month of the year has spilled out before us. We are tired but glad to be together in the magic quiet of a place we aren’t supposed to be.
When you look back over what had happened to place the earth in just the place for water and life and for all the lives that had to intersect and interact for two people to meet, become friends, and then go on an adventure, well, maybe none of us is supposed to be here or anywhere. But here we are.
At the end of every year, I say something about how quickly time has gone by, flown, as the expression goes. Flying suggests a flock of birds and a flock of birds suggests a destination, a purpose, a migration to where they’re supposed to be.
Nearly two years into the pandemic, it doesn’t feel to me like time is flying even though it does feel as if it’s rushing by. It feels more like I’ve been walking along with a large bowl and I’ve tripped, spilling the bowl’s contents, which rolls forth like liquid on a glossy table, rushing in all directions under carefully arranged belongings and spilling over the edge. I can’t catch the spill with my hands and there aren’t enough napkins to clean up the mess. The napkins aren’t that absorbent anyway.
Sorry. Sometimes I torture metaphors. It’s hard not to.
But time has been so weird these last two years. How would you describe it?
And now that I’m sitting with a bunch of soppy napkins and messed up table, I’m contemplating the year ahead. What will it bring? Who will be sitting here at the table come this time next December? Every year there’s another empty chair.
I’ve tried to think of a best-of list for 2021. It’s not that I can’t think of terrific books I’ve read or shows I’ve watched or other wonderful things I’ve encountered. Maybe I’ll write about them later. But the main things I want to remember as time slips every which way on the table life has given us are moments with loved ones who make us glad we’re here.
Thank you for reading.
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2 thoughts on “Thoughts on the End”
I don’t think I’m being biased by the subject matter when I say this is phenomenal writing, Marta. And the tortured metaphor? I was with you all the way.
Much love to you, sweet friend. > >
Thank you for the adventure! And for reading.