The Last Day

The door bell rang. I opened the door and took the envelope. I held it in my hand, weighing it carefully. It was embossed in gold. The lettering was ornate and looked hand written. It said, "Today is your last day."

I was not surprised. I knew it was coming, but hoped it would be later. Some things, I guess, happen in their own time.

I took the suitcase out of the closet and laid my things on the bed. I was surprised by how little I had. A few books. A change of clothes. A shell I had found at the beach. It wouldn't take up much space.

I still had time, a few hours probably. Enough for a last walk in the garden. The packing could wait.

The garden was spilling over with wildflowers. At the end of the garden was the pond. I had spent many hours there. It was quiet and peaceful. A heron stood silently at the edge.

I sat at my usual spot under the willow tree. I could feel my thoughts settling to stillness.

The heron move slightly. It must have seen a fish. It snapped its head into the water but came out empty. It stayed for a few more minutes and then decided to try its luck elsewhere.

That's what I was about to do as well. Try my luck elsewhere. It was time.

I made my way back along the path. Each step was a step I would never make again. Each flower would soon be only a memory.

I reached the end of the path, which was really the beginning. The limousine was waiting. My bag was by the trunk. Somebody had already packed my things.

I recognized the driver. He was the one who had brought the message earlier. He didn't say anything. He put my suitcase in the trunk and opened the door, waiting for me to get in. He knew I would. I knew it too.

In a few moments, he began driving away. I turned back for a last look, but all I could see was mist.

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Spiritual questions:

• What have you left undone?
• How much time do you have?
• Are you sure?

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This is one of the Parables for the Spiritual but not Religious Series.

February 27, 2020 - This was written with the Roundhouse Writing Group in Santa Cruz, Guatemala, remotely from Guanajuato, Mexico. The writing prompt for the session was: If this were my last day.

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