When I Grow Old and Wear the Bottom of My Trousers Rolled: Sequel

I grow old… I grow old… I shall wear the bottom of my trousers rolled

~ T.S. Eliot, The Love Song of J. Alfred Prufrock

Hmmm, when I grow old and wear the bottom of my trousers rolled, as I surely will God willing, which golden moments will my ragged memory choose to expend its sputtering wealth upon?

I do not think it will be moments of triumph. Not the accolades or tarnished awards. Not the praises earned that dissolved to dust. I believe it will be those minutes and hours in which I reveled in the simple things in life. The moments when I let go of ambition and choose to take life at its face value.

Memory Time Capsule: Standing by the lake casting wishes on the breeze as my twenty year old lure glinted through the water. Only just arrived and unwinding my expectation. The line halting suddenly with a force quite unexpected. A few cranks and then the singing of the line as the pike fought against its fate.

A few yards gained, a few yards lost, give and take, will against will. The crease upon the water's surface. My God, it must be huge! Is it hooked well? Patience, a whispered prayer, the last gasp run and the battle finally won. 30" of nature's glory. Yes, this I will remember.

Memory Time Capsule: Crossing the channel on the ferry in the last embrace of spring. Ward's Island coming into view as the mist rolls and curls on the lake. Cormorants and gulls riding on the swells. The gangplank clanking down on the dock. The day begun.

The island cottagers just awakening. A slow cat ponders me, cocks its head and slinks away. I reach the woodlot. Twittering, chattering, flutes. Ah, I am in luck. Just past the path that dissects the woodlot – a fall-out of warblers! They dance and flit around me by the dozens clad in their brightest breeding garb. All that is required of me is to take it in. Yes, this I will remember.

Memory Time Capsule: A flotilla of cars in lockstep makes their way along the highway. Headlights piercing the darkness. Follow the leader. One by one each car pulls onto the shoulder. Kill the ignition. Step out into the invading night. We are all strangers here. Intruders in Algonquin's sacred realm.

Impossible silence reigns. All these people hushed in anticipation. Who could believe it could be so. The leaders do their best calls. We wait. They call again – and yet again. Then it rises over the forest. Across the darkened fields and through the gloom. The haunting, enchanting and defiant howl of wolves as they claim their birthright. Yes, this I will remember.

Metaphors for the wanderer in me that longs to step beyond the borders of understanding. Where all that matter is faith in something greater, humility and the capacity to be awed.

Yes, when I wear the bottom of my trousers rolled and my memory begins to fragment at the edges, these things I will remember. All else will simply no longer matter.

~ Michael Robert Dyet is the author of "Until the Deep Water Stills – An Internet-enhanced Novel" – double winner in the Reader Views Literary Awards 2009. Visit Michael's website at www.mdyetmetaphor.com or the novel online companion at www.mdyetmetaphor.com/blog.

~ Subscribe to "Michael's Metaphors of Life Journal aka Things That Make Me Go Hmmm" at its' internet home www.mdyetmetaphor.com/blog2. Instructions for subscribing are provided in the "Subscribe to this Blog: How To" instructions page in the right sidebar. If you're reading this post on another social networking site, come back regularly to my page for postings once a week.

~ Send comments or questions to michael@mdyetmetaphor.com.