MY CHAIR

MY CHAIR
© PJ Hayward, New York 2011

I nod off in my chair now.

From my chair I can look beyond the rusty fire escape outside my window, to the maze of buildings beyond, growing ever more abundant with the passing of time.

Where beautiful trees were once filled with singing birds, now rise tall and taller their cold and lifeless concrete replacements.  Frigid and hard, they house their human counterparts – the ever burgeoning army of future business moguls and kings and queens of commerce.  Each morning they rush from their stone palaces without a greeting or acknowledgement to those they pass.  They charge off to their dreams of wealth and power, fame or accomplishment.  Whatever their dreams are – they rush to them – just as I once rushed to mine.

Do they wonder, as they hurriedly brush past the old woman creeping along with her cane, whether once upon a time she may have been more than just an obstacle hindering their path along the sidewalk?

Could they envision that the old woman, gray and wrinkled now, had once been young and vibrant and beautiful as they?

Would they think it impossible that the creeping old woman with her cane, once had achieved and surpassed those goals and dreams that they themselves in their rush and hurry are yet reaching for?

Yes and even more.  Imagine that the old woman once danced and whirled and leapt with wild abandon – loved until she was drunk in it – lived her fantasy and ran with it and laughed with joy and glee.

And yes – even more – held and nurtured and cherished and was cherished back by children.

That old woman who now sits in her chair – nodding off.