TRANSIENT EVENING - Scion

Shiny silver strands shifted according to the rhythm of the wind’s breeze. Seated amid the chilly currents was an old man. He was reminiscing the vibrant and exciting days of his long-retired youth with a wide smile. A smile so full and indelible any passerby would have assumed it was surgically implanted. A smile so bright it could only be compared to the center of the beautiful night sky, which he stared into as if in competition. She stared right back. Showering her creamish-gold brilliance wherever she could be seen.

The night’s largest eye wasn’t alone. She was accompanied by her innumerable glittery companions who aided her shine with their cosmic dazzle. The infamous diamonds in the sky. He wasn’t worried; Quite the contrary. The moon’s radiance only made him shine brighter. He was seated in nostalgia; A dimmed green plane, with its blades dancing at the tune of crickets and frogs. Racing through his mind was how the young feet of his friends and he had terrorized that lakefront. The many adventures playing back on the old display that was his mind. O how he missed those days.

His woolen blanket received a passionate squeeze at the bittersweet remembrance. He was no more the young stallion but the old bull, slowly being tipped over by the fierce tick of time. Time, they say, is a cruel mistress, but he was loyal and only ever had one wife. He would never trade the time they had spent together for anything in the world, including time. Time allowed him to see his sons grow from helpless babes to independent adults. What a mysterious cycle. He was not at all angry at time, no, he was grateful, as a wise man should be.

The symphonic gentle winds continued to bless the evening with a soothing lullaby. Tranquility. How could he not be grateful? How could he not smile? The creator of all these good things has allowed him to see the fruit of his seed. The wind caressed his face, followed by an abrupt gush, as if in agreement with his thoughts. God is Good.

He stood up and walked towards the lake. The jealous moon, casting its light on the lake, reflected his image to him, mocking his mortality, but the heavens would not allow it. They rumbled in anger and rained down a fiery downpour, melting the mirage of a reflection. The beauty of a thing is also its weakness. The older you are the longer you’ve lived, but the older you are the weaker you get. On this note, it was time to go back home. The evening is indeed beautiful, but ever fleeting.