Time To Say

It’s never been a problem for me.

When I’m weary I indulge in a short (occasionally, just a mite longer) nap or camouflage my lack of energy by a facade of meditation.

However, this is a different issue.

Years back on one of the memorable European excursions shared with the Ladies of Madonna Heights, we stopped briefly to enjoy a spectacular view of mustard blossoms in Dijon.

Several months later while shopping at the Walt Whitman Mall, I noticed that one of the shop windows displayed a sweater with a matching jacket. Their vibrant hue brought back the memorable colors I had seen in France.

Without hesitation I purchased both items, and they became treasures in my wardrobe. Perhaps it was because they evoked a happy moment or a beautiful memory. I was never quite certain about that.

I only know whenever they emerged from my closet I felt good wearing the colorful ensemble.

Until today when I knew they were both tired. Quite tired, as a matter of fact. Neither a nap nor a meditation would bring them back to a viable life.

I thought briefly about the positive effects of steam or a really superb dry cleaning specialist, but realized immediately, they were both beyond hope.

While I wrapped them both gently in a shroud of tissue paper, I wondered if the memories were going to leave too.

Would the lack of a mustard colored jacket with matching sweater mean the end of a comforting memory of a tranquil field of blossoms in an open field in a foreign land?

Would the absence of an item of clothing also remove the solace that only a reminiscence of beauty shared with kindred souls always brought?

I rather doubt it, and when the tissue was tightly wrapped and embraced the well worn, and well loved garments, I allowed them to enjoy a long nap in the land where old clothes go.