Mental Snapshots

Lately, I've been taking mental pictures of random things.

On the way home from work, I was stopped at a red light. I looked to my left and saw a beautiful lamp post, a naked tree partially obscuring it, a bleak wrought iron fence with lovely finials. The sky was steely grey and snow was swirling around like it was considering landing on the ground.

*click*

Passed a woman walking her sand colored dog with a red harness. He was far ahead of her and his neck was craned back looking at her like "LETS GO, GAWD!". She had a light blue coat with dark blue stripes on the side and fluffy boots. Her arm was being pulled forward by the dog and she was sort of trip-walking.

It was lovely.

*click*

Life goes on. It really does. It's obscene and horrifying to contemplate your own mortality at such a young age. But just beneath my outer onion-skins is a core me who knows full well that, in the scheme of things, I'm only a blip. A grain of silica if time was all the sand on Earth.

When I cry about it, I think of only the things I'll leave behind. My love, my friends, my family, my cats. Even my stuff. I know that's odd but my stuff is my own. My pen/tablet. My make-up mirror. My clutter, my familiars. I mourn the end of sunsets and snow and IMAX and chocolate.

I've always been in love with life. Always knew the inherent beauty of newly fallen snow. The core-shaking perfectness of a veiny leaf. The exquisiteness of my cat's face.

I'm in stasis. I'm waiting to find out if I will live or not. I hate that feeling. I have to climb out of that barrel with light at both ends and just keep loving the life I live.

Funny thing is, I know there is light in death as well.