If one were to penetrate (as I did earlier today) the country inroads of Lanark County and Renfrew County, it would be impossible not to marvel at the scenery of Eastern Ontario. The autumnal feast of hues is at its apogee. The black shiny ribbon of newly paved highway wound me tranquilly through the serene villages and hamlets that dotted my purposeless circumnavigation.  Admittedly it invigorates the environment and oneself to drive amid the uncommonly balmy fall air with the car windows open and the landau roof retracted beneath an azure dome and the yellow sunshine. Curiously there was little traffic either following or approaching me. Such unparalleled serendipity! On one occasion I caught myself uttering a reflective praise to the supernatural!

So much of my life has faded.  Youth has decidedly lost its brightness.  The syrup of prep school and university friends has drained. I’m officially unemployed.  My parents are dead.  My nieces are on their way to accomplish their personal fortunes. Shamefully perhaps I adopt these natural transitions as affording an unvarnished simplicity and clarity. What remains is not only the amalgam of the past – specifically (in my increasingly limited memory) the best of it all – but also the inexpressible advantage I have in my closest relationship which forms the centre of my galaxy.

These present moments are akin those halcyon days. An idyllic day such as today cannot be discounted by any amount of deprivation.

Halcyon
a mythical bird said by ancient writers to breed in a nest floating at sea at the winter solstice, charming the wind and waves into calm. ORIGIN late Middle English (in the mythological sense) via Latin from Greek alkuōn ‘kingfisher’ (also halkuōn, by association with hals ‘sea’ and kuōn ‘conceiving’)

We have meanwhile intoxicated our current plenitude of agenda by sharing favourable communications with friends. Being upon the threshold of perceptible change means there is much to consider both of where we’ve been and where we’re going. It aids the passage that the weight of the duties of the past has lessened.

Unquestionably the simplification of life has wrought a lucidity, a mixture of refinement of the ingredients and purification of their governing rationale. Escaping the singularly visceral world of middle age for the subsequent sphere of armchair philosophy is nonetheless enabling. After a lifetime of competition, struggle and debt the otherwise inconsequential alternative of unrestrained idleness and diminished appetite makes for a calm though potentially shallow status. It sanctifies this assertion to recall the slight contempt I have for the once overly valued hardware of my life. The withdrawal from my erstwhile concerns proffers a clear but abstract view of life sans the ever present minutiae.

I interject in this my current buoyancy that its positivity in no way contaminates the overall gusto I preserve for my past. Yet with so many of life’s erstwhile adornments having been displaced or replaced the regard over my shoulder has lost its allure. It is now about more than a new chapter; it’s an entirely new book. Luckily for me my orbit of happiness is readily conciliated. With the humble tools of literary training, an unrivalled affection for the bicycle, a passion for automobiles and more than a passing interest in the festive board I have sustained and nurtured the best of the past for the good of the future.