Lost in Time (bp coyle)

Five hundred years ago, five hundred years to the day, someone walked down this very road, just as I’m doing now. Kicking their feet through the piles of fallen leaves, taking a deep breath to steady their nerves. Tellng themselves to stop worrying, that nothing really matters in the long run.

And who cares what they were up to, be it nefarious or good? Who remembers?

No one, that’s who. No one at all.

They may have been on their way to commit a robbery, maybe even a murder.

They may have been visiting a sick relative or checking in on an elderly neighbour.

They may have been sneaking out for an illicit rendezvous with a secret lover.

Maybe they were simply talking the air on an early winter’s evening. Mulling over their problems, anticipating the fast approaching festive season.

What difference does make? It has long been lost in time.

And what difference does it make where I am going? What I am planning?

Five hundred years from now, if this planet still has life on it, who will know? Who will judge me?

My actions, for better or worse, will also be lost in time.

Image by rihaij from Pixabay

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