Wednesday, October 01, 2008
FROM MORNING DRIVE JOURNAL
OCTOBER 2, 2002
My last day of work full-time at the Printers. After today, I'll be "retired."
It rained about 4:30 a.m. briefly. Everything is wet. The sky is grey, some black birds flying high enough to disappear into cloud.
As I head off to work for the final time, the moment holds some emotion - not sadness exactly, a soberness, a somber feeling. Something has ended. Something new has begun.
North of Fairwater, to the north lays grey Canadian sky. A crenulated sky, as if the clouds have slammed into a wall. As if the sky this morning is God's accordion and he's all set to play "The Retirement Polka."
The closer I get to work, the greyer the sky. A spit of rain increases. You'd call it a dark and dreary day if you didn't have such reason jump up and kick your heels. Say hooray! hooray! hooray!
OCTOBER 2, 2002
My last day of work full-time at the Printers. After today, I'll be "retired."
It rained about 4:30 a.m. briefly. Everything is wet. The sky is grey, some black birds flying high enough to disappear into cloud.
As I head off to work for the final time, the moment holds some emotion - not sadness exactly, a soberness, a somber feeling. Something has ended. Something new has begun.
North of Fairwater, to the north lays grey Canadian sky. A crenulated sky, as if the clouds have slammed into a wall. As if the sky this morning is God's accordion and he's all set to play "The Retirement Polka."
The closer I get to work, the greyer the sky. A spit of rain increases. You'd call it a dark and dreary day if you didn't have such reason jump up and kick your heels. Say hooray! hooray! hooray!
