One day, I stood in my kitchen and stared out the window, onto the view of a pasture across the way. I thought about what type of man I would become, the pathway I would follow, once I am old. I contemplated the style of dress I might wear – the direction I might comb my hair. I thought to myself, what type of old man persona should I adopt? The chess playing old man in the park or the one who dresses in suits a lot? Maybe the time locked old man all set ablaze with bright colors and personality? Or should I adopt the style of the eccentric oddity – ascott’ed up with bookish glasses, wearing a smile for everyone he passes, with a well worn, slightly shorn beard made of sugar? I could be a chocolate, praline, hot cup of cocoa, shuffling along with two marshmallows, for eyes squinting with wisdom and smiles for each precious sunrise.
Nah, what I’ll become is rich brown soil to soothe the spirits, nourish the soul, and rejoin the world. I’ll become a book of wisdom. An old and tattered, writ of experiences and jewels that were birthed to me. Gems formed under the pressure of life from deep within the earth and pushed to the surface, you see.
Yes! I’ll become rich, deep down and brown soil. Rich with the minerals of patience, clarity, compassion, and forgiveness. This is the magic I’ve decided to give and leave the world – the deep, down, brown of my skin. The joys, sadness, and understanding from within. This is the flower I will blossom into when I become old. I said to myself as I pushed these words out silently onto the air. Let my truth be told.
But one day I will come to an end as will one helluva ride. And then my rich deep, down, brown will grow new vines. I made all of these choices one day, as I stood in my kitchen and stared across at the pasture with cattle across the way.
by malakhai jonezs
(c) Copyright 2016