Loose Change

 

It is an undoing of the neighborhood.  A mistake gets made at the hospital and someone’s wife dies.  The old man down the road falls and hits his head, and the next thing we hear - there were complications and now he too is gone.

His minivan, plastered with bumper stickers, won’t be passing by the house anymore.  What’s-their-names, across the way, upped and moved.

Now there is a new postman.  Grodin has retired.  It is raining leaves.  There is a storm due in shortly, so today will be spent indoors doing laundry.  Some of the older, more worn out clothes will get tossed.  There are holes and elastics that have been stretched beyond trustworthiness.

Maybe it is just time for a change of people and apparel.   The overall complexion of the neighborhood will be different.  New mothers push strollers along the edge of the road, where they never did put in sidewalks.  Puppies just learning to walk at the end of a leash struggle to reach things just over there.

I feel like an old bottle of wine, with a label designed with a feeble attempt at clever.  No longer in favor, priced reduced again, yet still I am here.  Not having gotten better with age, just older but with a layer of dust, giving the appearance of gray hair.

No rain yet, still just falling leaves.  I will shut this down before the storm arrives.  I can’t recall what any of the bumper stickers said, and now it is too late.  The old man and his van are not coming back. Nature picks up the pace on kicking out the old leaves.  She has been in the neighborhood longer than anyone, she knows it's time.