My 27th Year- The Sun and the Moon

And so walk I did, right from autumn into winter- a kaleidoscope of colours flickering their final fancy before crumbling from the trees and crumpling underfoot.

The orchards hung heavily with the sweet scent of rotten apples and woodsmoke, carried by the first cold stirs of the northern wind that waltzed with the last of the warm sun. Little were we to know then that it would blow all the way through into April, 

For a long while, I felt numb. I knew full well there was a cauldron of unspent emotion inside but under a tightly sealed lid. The quiet, distant rumble of a rolling boil audible only in my ears at bed at night as I lay watching the moon with Buddy tucked under one arm. He would rise and fall on my chest and purr quietly as I remembered to breathe, just as I remembered to keep putting one foot in front of the other, I told myself. By the dead of night, Buddy would eventually be roused and called by the creatures of the countryside and abruptly squawking his ragged meow, he'd slink off out the open window, leaving me to fall into a restless sleep.

Many days and weeks passed like this, waking early with the sun and crawling into bed under a moon that had followed me through the orchard at dusk, as we took Bruce for his evening jaunt.

Under these moons and these suns I passed, quietly easing myself into my new life and trying to find a foothold, which wasn't there and wouldn't be for months to come. New opportunities would manifest as quickly as they would disappear, from jobs, to a place of my own to live and even to new friends who didn't quite turn out to be friends after all. Disappointments soared hand in hand with delights in rapid succession, like eyelids beating to a discordant tune. Every morning, however, kept returning to my window, as did the night and every sun and moon, and so my feet kept moving, one in front of the other... continually leading me away from my old life and into a new.

The most terrifying fact about the universe is not that it is hostile but that it is indifferent; but if we can come to terms with this indifference and accept the challenges of life within the boundaries of death — however mutable man may be able to make them — our existence as a species can have genuine meaning and fulfillment. However vast the darkness, we must supply our own light.

(Thanks, Stanley Kubrick)

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