Flashes of Panic

Earlier this week, I was running along a road in this town which may have been one of the roads on one of my first runs when I first came here. I spotted a decent-sized flock of wild turkeys on the far side of an adjacent field, and my thoughts drifted to a story of my grandfather’s cat bringing home a dead partridge—I don’t know how much of what I was remembering was real and how much was pieced together from different stories, or just plain imagined.

Later I realized that this has to be my preview of getting old—that with every passing year, more and more of the incidental objects in the world are becoming database keys to something stuffed in my brain. Turkey => partridge => Mocho => dinner => ??

I can easily imagine this iterating to a degree that would make me unable to relate to the real world.