shaking the box of time

The gulls circle above, screeching, then settle to the ground. We walk among them and they don't mind. One peers up at me as I approach, decides I am to be avoided, and grants me a few inches. I think about how all of us deserve the life we are given. The weather turns warm, then cold, then warm, then cold again. I can't keep up. I prefer warm, but still a five-minute walk in the sunny cold assures me that I am alive. At my desk I had doubts. The harbor glitters. Pairs of mallards snooze on concrete, their bills tucked neatly in their feathered backs. I am as uncertain as the weather. Once every month my work email inbox reaches capacity. I receive an automated message and I must spend time archiving and deleting. What if I didn't? Meetings are weekly, biweekly, bimonthly. Payment for services rendered occurs twice a month. You earn vacation time because you don't deserve it. This is the metronome that governs us. Someday none of it will matter. I'm unsure of when but I sure see it bleeding at the seams. I am nervous for all of us.