On Retirement
The warmth of liberation seeps into my every pore.
The flow of freedom from the constraints of my working life
glistens like the sparkle of a Highland river,
and my heart gambols in its glory: the final chapter
of a story. The finale of the tome that holds the
memoirs of my toiling years is complete.
I feel the locks of professional responsibility snap open and I’m free: emancipated from the role that has consumed me since the dawn of its existence some thirty years ago.
Yet it’s been my familiarity for so long, and I’m faced
with the uncertainty of ‘what now?’ accompanied by
the bitter sweet acceptance that it’s time to go.
Yet this ‘going’ is a sign of rapidly advancing years;
a leaving behind of the script I know so well.
The page is blank now, and time’s become my own.
A step into the unknown, a crossroads at
which I pause to take a breath and sit a while.
No need to rush for now - or at all any more.
The train rolls on and I see the passengers
so engrossed in their activities they fail
to see me leave; just another departing commuter.
And so it continues, leaving me behind as it,
like me, disappears into the distance.
I stand alone on the platform, new life in hand, luggage free.
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