A Mighty River
I hear the impatient idling of the powerful diesel engine of the large articulated bus at the busstop half a block away. The light of a new day is barely seeping into my room. I roll over and look at the clock. Seven-thirty a.m, as usual. The large apartment block between my small townhouse and the busstop is emptying its occupants: young and middle-aged, singles and married into that bus and the others that have already come and gone.
They are the workers and the employers, the students and the professionals, the movers and the shakers, all joining in a fast-moving, turbulent, dynamic river of life that churns downtown with the energy of ideas and commerce, services and production, aspirations and dreams.
My wife and I used to be part of that mighty Amazon fed by all those commuters crowding quickly into the impatient buses, trains, ferries, planes, cars on this and every other morning.
But these days, in earned retirement, I can pull the covers up to my neck again, and roll over snug in the realization that I won't have to face a whole day of work on not enough sleep, again.
Retirement is a quieter tributary as life meanders through visits from grown sons and daughters, grandkids, photos, phone calls, the odd trip or cruise, e-mails, books, reflections and memories into that contented fulfilment into which my life partner has peacefully tiptoed before me.
