Morning Sky
Somber puffs of black smoke exuded out of the brown shiny pipe in the old street sweepers hands. He coughed and was reminded of his lung cancer. It was the dawn of a new day and time to go home for a bout of well deserved sleep. But there was something about the morning sky this fine summer day that caught his eye. He had seen many golden skies in his working days, so it struck him as odd why this one should feel so different. Perhaps it was the words his wife had spoken to him resurfacing their way from the abscess of his mind.
“There’s little time left and none left to stay.”
He let the memory of her words bore into him past the deep crooked wrinkles in his skin to something inside of him; something profound within the old street sweeper. He set the broom to the floor and raised his hands to the sky.
Oh what must it be like to be a bird in the sky flying with the almighty. He daydreamed about the weightless ventures he’d undertake free from it all. The time would come and surely it’d be infinite. An image of his mortal wife flashed before his eyes.
He turned away from the glorious golden sky and began his walk home at a brisk pace for a man of his age. He had to get home soon. There was little time left and none left to stay.
