Sylvester's Morning Musing22:37 Mar 26 2019
Times Read: 932
Sylvester's Morning Musing
Introduction:
When Sylvester had bought the machine he'd been a tad the worse for wear, but sober when he had used it. Back then he had been in his late thirties, perhaps forties. After all this time it was hard to recall. But he did remember when Tabbi had introduced him to her housemates as 'the old man she found on the canal tow-path.' That had upset him, more than a tad. Yet he had been tired and after his cup of tea, he had curled up on the couch and his young saviour had thrown a blanket over him.
Then he had slept.
It was days later before Sylvester had looked at his self, in a mirror. And though shocked, he had acknowledged his change, chose to accept it there and then and adapt to his situation, as best he could with Tabbi's help.
That had all been years ago and much had changed since then; the house was now theirs, thanks to money acquired through a trip back in time with a little fore-knowledge, just a little.
Several of the young people who had lived with them since the days of the squat had left and now, there was just Mai, Tabbi and Sylvester and, his silver time machine, down in the basement...
* * *
The sky was blue with full fluffy clouds occupying much of the horizon and the air had been crisp and clean, since early morning.
Sylvester had chosen to rise early and take advantage of the good weather, to seek exercise – with a walk, that might help him clear his head.
And, as Sylvester walked the sun rose, warm on his face. Not to smile was impossible.
He walked down the terraced streets and crossed a couple of main roads, heading for the docks.
Sylvester was oblivious to the early morning commuters: his mind relationship obsessed and, that pained him. For him, the past was not passed, it was all mixed.
He looked to his watch, an old-fashioned half-hunter, attached to his waistcoat by a short chain.
It was not yet time for his housemate and friend to hit the snooze button for the first time and, there was still a lot to think on.
So, turning his back to the river where he had stood for several long minutes and a smoke, a smile crossed his lips as he caught the smell of sweet spices on the air, from the restaurant across the road and to his right.
He decided to head home with the prospect of a sausage sandwich and Trisha Goddard, if he got home in time.
“In time,” Sylvester scoffed, then decided a change of plan was in order. He would go home using a route that was longer than needed.
“An I'll just enjoy the sandwich all the more...” he mumbled, already imagining the taste of Dijon mustard, coating his sausage, it's tang a pleasure he relished.
As he walked, Sylvester revelled in the lack of footfall, having realized earlier that he needed to contemplate much, to see if his concerns were warranted, or not.
From where he sat, gazing down at a city of the old and new, Sylvester felt at ease.
“The past is in flux and the future quite uncertain,” Sylvester muttered, eyeing the signs of further renewal before him, amidst the city and around it.
Finally he sat where liked to sit, on a small sandstone wall on Everton Brow, looking down the green of the park, to the city he had grown to know.
From where he sat, gazing down at a city of the old and new, Sylvester felt oddly content.
Idly he wondered if the many tall yellow cranes that dominated the skyline and illustrated the rebuilding were a sign of good times, or a need to inspire tomorrow?
“Either way,' he mused, 'time will move on and there will be further change, there always is...”
He was in awe of how comfortable the people of this city seemed to be with the change, religious and societal; and with the changes he had seen, since his time.
Religion was no longer the problem it had been and the concept of class mattered less. It was as if man's technological advancements had brought the beginning of the possibility of a burgeoning renaissance.
He saw the mixture of the old and new buildings of his adopted city as a positive sign, that though relevant, the past stood as relevant to the present as it should be.
The thought pleased Sylvester, as it suggested that his place in this time and city might actually matter. He placed his hands on his knees and stood, groaning as his knees protested.
Brushing his coat aside Sylvester brought his watch out: “Nearly eight-thirty.”
He did not need to carry the watch. In a world such as his, an object like this merely acted to signpost the obvious, to someone who used time, as someone else might a journey to the shops.
A watch also acted to pinpoint where Sylvester needed to act, which often meant involving himself in the world of another.
'Such as now,” he mused, beginning his homeward journey.
There was a sausage butty to make, to enjoy with a good strong brew.
“After that,” Sylvester considered, “then I'll maybe ask her for advice...”
* * *
COMMENTS
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Crowscat
00:47 Mar 27 2019
I love your writes:)