It is his last day.
It feels ordinary.
He wakes early and showers. The water is hot needles stinging his skin. He drives into town for a haircut and buys crusty fresh bread, marinated olives, goats’ cheese, and red wine. The girl at the checkout is pretty and young, and has flawless brown skin. She returns his smile. Of course, she doesn’t know.
Back home in the garden a fresh wind is making the white cherry blossom dance and is scaring the new leaves on the horse-chestnut tree. Some float to the ground, light green fingers outstretched. The sky is grey and featureless, yet with a rumour of blue. He walks in the garden, amongst the shrubs, bushes, trees and bubbling bird song. The world around him is bursting with new life. He is suddenly aware of his own mortality.
After lunch, with the air mild enough for him to sit on the terrace, he reads. He holds his breath as a bold, bright butterfly alights on a page and opens and closes her exotic, delicate wings. He sighs at her beauty. His phone buzzes like an insect, and beauty is doubled.
He contemplates the evening ahead. An early dinner in an Italian restaurant and then the theatre. It will be perfect, yet the hours will pass far too quickly.
And then the night will end it.
It his last day
He will be a another year older tomorrow.
© the author writing as Romantic Dominant
Art by Salvador Dali