Up in Smoke

Mowing was postponed. The grass was wet and the sky hinted it might get wetter momentarily. Time for a fire. Watching fire either empties my brain or evokes what only I consider profound thoughts.

Sitting in a comfy chair far enough away to escape the heat, with a cat making my lap his comfy seat, it didn’t take long for my brain to drain. 2020 has created quite a quagmire. Any time I can escape its conundrums and negativity, that’s a plus.

It was nice while it lasted. An errant thought, dragging a deadline like a big bass zigzagging fishing line, beckoned me to join it in a topic search. To refrain from dumping a hodge-podge of brainstorms too quickly into my head, I focused on the flames as they faded.

Soon all the fire’s fuel vanished, up in smoke. Not sad. Necessary. If an old sofa can’t be recycled - having fulfilled its duties to couch potatoes, growing kids and feisty pets in sickness and in health - obliteration is the answer.

Obliterated. Wish that described COVID-19 tomorrow. Maybe it will someday as it does smallpox.

What about obliterating 2020? It has way more wrong with it than the viral pandemic. It seems a dismal failure so far. If it went up in smoke as the sofa did, I would, too. I’m not ready for that.

2020 is bulldozing a way to fresh perspectives, new habits, expanded appreciations. Think like Fred Rogers: “Often when you think you’re at the end of something, you’re at the beginning of something else.”