“Don’t want to end up a cartoon in a cartoon grave yard”- Paul Simon
The old man sighed; OK, he thought, gazing at the wrinkled, browning apple in the fruit bowl, it isn’t going to get any fresher. He had watched it deteriorating for three days now and, nope, it wasn’t filling back out or getting any smoother. “I guess it figures,” he murmured, “We’re all just apples in the end.” Pushing back from the table he rose and walked into the bathroom. As if to define the truth of what he had just said he looked at his face in the mirror. Yep, he thought, there’s the apple turning to rot. With a sigh he turned and walked to the back door and went outside for the forth time today. His thoughts went back a couple hours to morning.
When he awoke his back was hurting him. It hurt most every morning now and, though he hid the pain from his wife and grown children as best he could, he had already acknowledged that the pain was just another step down the staircase to death. He didn’t want to think this way but the numbers didn’t lie; he was 70. No, he certainly didn’t want to think this way. Not in the least. His was not a voluntary melancholy. What he wanted was to be healthy again. Sitting outside in the back, looking at the oaks which he knew would outlive him, his focus switched to watching the birds. He lived on the border of an oak woodland. A creek gurgled in the backdrop of nature’s sound track, easily missed if one didn’t know it was there. It was a harmony which didn’t get past him. A harmony that seemed to him like a symphony. Each instrument tuned to perfection and blending in a chorale of sound far surpassing Beethoven or Bach. Far more complex than computer generated noise which some called music. He had played guitar for many, many years. He loved harmonies and acoustic guitar and, while listening to the natural sounds of the woodland, harkened back to when he first gotten interested and started playing his instrument; a Martin D28 six string.