In what now seems to have been an immeasurable second of time the passage of my life is suddenly like that of a rocket that has burned out and precipitously begun to fall back down. From a distance the flagrant spectacle is but an abbreviated recollection of its once atmospheric trajectory. Life’s erstwhile planetary orbit is in a moment reduced to the thrill of a cheap firecracker display. Life has gone from rocket to reverse as it plummets to earth in uncontrollable descent. What remains of the initial ambition is a muted memory of the ascent.

The descent though undaunted is nonetheless mysteriously prolonged, affording an unanticipated journey of reflection and recollection.  But the starry gaze is only upon life’s former path, reliving its historic energy and strength. For now the realities of experience are predominantly wistful only; the rest is accommodation only, perhaps relieved by occasional deceit or excuse. The vision of movement is replaced by a sedentary portrait imperiled by the granular immediacy of progressive decomposition. Memento mori sings like an aching hum or a Socratic truth.

Today I seek to cushion the dread of futility by convincing myself of a need for a “day off”, recess from my customary habit which increasingly diminishes in extent and capacity. The jarring fall to earth approaches by repeated intensity and always with the same inevitability. I am not hopeful but instead pragmatic. I have always said life owes me nothing. I am content to recall the vivid moments from my past and to embellish what remains. Granted it is not a particularly buoyant proposition but it captures the blunt but gratifying reality. Meanwhile I remain as frightfully tactile as before – though perhaps vicariously only. Regret replenished by metaphor.