Mr. Evening...

I know someone called Mr. Evening. I known him for almost always, he pops in and out of the gaily coloured cavalcade of my life bringing his own blend of calm and certainty. He’s been hanging around for a while now and sometimes I wish he’d just pack his battered steamer trunk and leave taking all his dusty corners with him.

The first time I met Mr. Evening he was hanging around under the elm tree in the old school playground. He must have know that I was worried about the maths test that afternoon because he took out a battered old notebook and began to write down algebraic formulas in a curiously cursive script.

I didn’t see him for a while then, until one day I found him sitting on a wall by the side of the road waiting for me. He had his steamer trunk with him and after that he began popping up every few months or so no matter how I tried to avoid him.

And then a couple of years back he came for an extended visit, maybe even to stay – or so he thought – but no, it wasn’t to be. I won’t let him be.

Anyway, it’s time for a change and don’t they say that it’s as good as rest? So, I’m saying goodbye to Mr. Evening for good, picking two bay leaves and placing one in each shoe. I’m stepping out, best foot forward, off to pastures new I hope and pray and cast my runes and he’s not coming with me.

Good evening, Mr. Evening, and goodnight.