What next?
Life is pleasant. Death is peaceful. It’s the transition that’s troublesome — Issac Asimov
The morning air was shrouded in mist. Slender wisps of vapor rose from the dew-laden grass, resembling serpents performing an aerial ballet. A subtle chill persisted, prompting one to wrap their arms around their chest for warmth. The sun, a dimmed orange orb, struggled to shine through the shifting fog.
Against the hush of this ethereal scene, Natalie — the weaver of fantastical dreams and a seasoned event organizer — emerged out of her vehicle and proceeded into the venue hall where the wedding celebration had extended into the late hours of night and guests had recently departed. The venue hall was vacant, and debris lay strewn across the floor. The place appeared desolate. The scene captured the enigma of the passage of time; a present transformed into the past. The scene conveyed the nostalgia of time’s flow and the poignancy of endings.
The event Natalie orchestrated was a triumph, carried out flawlessly. With this achievement now in the past, Natalie felt an emptiness within. From the quietude, a whispered inquiry emerged: What next?
It was the same question that appeared to echo in Clint Eastwood’s thoughts as he departed from the town gate, leaving behind the locale leaving behind the locale he had cleansed of its unsavory elements.
It was the question that preoccupied the townspeople as they surveyed the ravaged landscape in the morning, following days of a devastating storm that had leveled the town, and at last, the sky was clear and blue once more.
It was a question that Michael asked himself at the conclusion of the retirement send-off, after the unwrapping of presents and as colleagues, one by one, retreated to their cubicles. What next?
And holding the clock that was one of the send-off presents, he cried.
Ciao.
