What will I do when I die?
Sleep like Arthur until a great arts project awakens me from my slumber?
Or will I simply miss all the things I now take for granted because I’m too caught up in my own preciousness, my own image, my own dream of what I should be, could be, must be.
Yes. I shall lie and think of the small things:
- Pointing out bird nests to my two year old daughter
- Showing her ladybirds, spiders, worms and ants
- The laughter of innocent childhood
- Having my wife, the love of my life, understanding my quietness without saying a word
- The draft of a beer
- The pull off a joint
- Watching the final of a rugby match in a pub
- The smell of grass
- The feel of the water when you dive underneath
- The drag of a cigarette
- Eating the skin off a roast chicken
- The conversation over dinner at a party
- Reading a book late at night
- Knowing I’ve helped someone
- Thinking of my dead mother
There are so many small things that make up our lives, so many that sing to our heart. But to sleep?
No, not me, not yet.
424 total views, 1 today