an illusion

Yesterday. Still summer. But I took the dock out anyway.

Cool water. Light waves. My buddy, Astro the Husky, watched from the porch. Bluejays and chickadees kept busy at the feeders. Neighbors two houses down grilled meat. Not many boats out. Long stretches of cottony clouds across the sky. And I only swore a few times—drill battery went dead, dropped a wrench in the lake. Overall, it felt good. Pulling, twisting, lugging, lifting. It was late afternoon. Quiet. I had nothing else to do. So, I got all five of the ten-foot sections up and over the break wall. One by one. Stacked and lined them up under the cedars for easy set up next year.

Which will be here tomorrow. Or has already happened. I can’t be sure.

Time ticks and warps. Slips away. Just plain old evaporates.

Life really does happen in the blink of an eye. It’s here. Then gone. Here. Then gone. It does and does not exist. Close your eyes, it’s night. Open them, it’s day.

I went to bed tired. Filled to the brim with accomplishment. Disappeared for six hours into dreams, nightmares—maybe nothingness. Then woke in the exact position I fell asleep. No new aches though. No cuts or bruises. Only the simple happiness of swinging my legs over the edge of the bed to get moving.

Astro led me outside to meet the sunrise. Breathe in a new day. We checked too to make sure the dock was really there, stacked and waiting for spring. It was. He sniffed it. Peed on it for good measure.

Today it’s eerie calm. The lake looks iced-over all the way to Grand Island. For a split-second, it’s February. I’m thinking shovels, ice melt, keeping paths clean. Thanksgiving and Christmas have played out without me remembering a thing.

What gifts did I give the kids?

Then a fish jumps. Destroys the illusion. It’s September. I’m nine days away from the end of summer. At the yellow Formica table. Fingers on the keys. Mixing up ideas that are caught between seasons. Observing what is and what isn’t. Recording it.

I’ve learned now that’s all I can do. It’s my job. Life’s work. What I was put here to do.

Someone else will make sense of it all.

~ KJ