Rose Colored Glasses

Sandra Saxon Burnsed

While it may be 7:30 in the morning, the shadows of the night make it hard to distinguish the trees from the branches in the dim light. Outside there’s a steady rain pouring as a cold front slowly moves across the south. But news from the Midwest and North has me breathing a sigh of gratitude because the weather could be worse. Today I’m sitting here in a very old brown pullover sweater I’ve had since the 90’s. I wore it a many a night with my uniform when I worked security at a number of job sites.

The sweater/shirt is ratty and torn and is about three sizes too big, considering I weighed over 350 pounds back then. It’s covered with tiny little holes from where little sparks of ash would fall out of the bowl of my pipe. The more civilized way I preferred to smoke my tobacco in those days. But those days have been long gone since August of 2015, when doctor’s, my oldest daughter, and my fear urged me to stop smoking. The smell of the vanilla and bourbon kissed tobacco I smoked is long gone from the sweater’s material. But the memories of walking those job sites in the dead of night still linger in my mind.

As grey clouds now blanket the sky, I’m reminded of those cold mornings. Sitting in my own head while staying vigilant of my surroundings. Still hoping for a better future while fighting the demons that have plagued me since 1999. But as I said, those days have long passed, but my journey isn’t over. Able to see now with a bit more clarity, the future is as blank as this screen was a few moments ago. But now I don’t see things with as much trepidation. Only with a bit of curiosity and a slight bit of optimism. But that just might be the mood of the moment, but I’ll take it. After so many restless nights, it’s nice to put on my Grandma’s “Rose Colored Glasses” at least for a little while.