A Reprieve

There is something in the air, that last day before the end. Not quite jollity, too heavy for that. It is the weight of freedom. Encroaching, imminent, it hands in clouds, dusting our sentences, accenting our footsteps, embellishing our complaints. Only a few rays of sun left, now, between us and the end. Some slapdash pronouncements, last-minute emails left pending to await a delayed response. No goodbyes are heard, too short for that. Only later!s — there is scarcely time to remember what to forget. Soon enough the freedom will have its own end. Most are already bridging the gap with dates on calendars, deadline reminders, bookmarked chapters. A few pretend not to see, opening their eyes only to sooner, shorter things. In the end this is not an end, only a reprieve.