There we celebrated the memory of Baucis and Philemon. We raised our goblets and toasted for love, for longevity. To which the man, voice fumbling, gave gratitude and thanked the crowd, thanked his son, thanked his wife — despite the fatigue overwhelming his spirit.
So much memory, old photographs running through the digital cascades accompanied by modern music.
An awkward dance. I was sleepy.
“Old age, believe me, is a good and pleasant thing. It is true you are gently shouldered off the stage, but then you are given such a comfortable front stall as spectator.” [Confucius]
An old jazz song is playing at the back. I sip coffee as I check the papers of my students. As I wait for April. The net connection is so bad. In fact, there is no connection at all. Things are all going back to normal.
“We never live; we are always in the expectation of living.” [Voltaire]