Abandon

Dusk comes and the world stands still.  All is metaphor, floating in the lushest air , untethered, unstable, free.  An anonymous post card through the mail slot. A phone call--"I love you"--from a married woman, half in jest.  It is like that now, sun falling behind the house, the horizon that you can see fading. . . .  Everything is still.  How many times, you wonder again.  There is no hurry.  Nothing is diminished.  You have all the time in the world.  What has changed?  What is different?

Even the cat sleeps elsewhere now.  A new morning rises like the last.