Cycles of life

Driving to the airport where Pete works takes us through acres of livestock pasture, and past a shooting range (naturally), leaving a 1940 bungalow style farmhouse as the last piece of civilian life before hitting the Tarmac. A month or so ago, I got my only glimpse of the people living in the farmhouse. I witnessed an older man taking out the trash. He was hunched over, walking with a cane and dragging his red radio flyer wagon behind him loaded down with trash bags. 

I smiled. The driveway is easily a few hundred yards and here he was creatively conquering his bodily signs of aging. I went through that day feeling empowered.

Last weekend, I notice the yard between the farmhouse and the outbuilding/carport was full of furniture. My first thought was: "family reunion? Early Easter picnic on a 75F+ day in April?" But then I noticed the estate sale sign. My heart sank a little. Just a few weeks ago, I assume The Man of The House was inspiring me with his determination to keep living fully. Apparently that was his last hurrah working on his cattle ranch. Either that, or the tornado damaged the place enough a fixed income couple needn't to move, but I'm assuming things.

I wish my weekend had not been booked solid and I could have meandered through that sale and daydreamed of what the life of the inhabitants had been like; Seen relics from the years between the house construction and the airport's invention. But no matter, I'm still inspired to live fully in this body until it simy can't function any more. I wish them peace as they move to the next phase of their existence.