knee deep

Into town I went.
I had some returns to take care of.
So did everyone else.
We stood in long lines together.
At one point, it felt like my life was in danger.
You know that feeling don't you?
A long line forms.
Faces are surly.
Feet shuffle.
There is a distant murmur like a herd of cattle on the brink of stampeding.

The clerks were all amazingly bonnie and blithe.
They deserved medals, every one of them.

The outward trimmings of Christmas still cling everywhere.
Christmas at seventy-five percent off.
Clean up in aisle six.
Customer service on red alert.

It reminds me of standing in the middle of a living room after the birthday party guests have gone home clutching their goody bags.
It reminds me of a reception hall after the wedding party have dashed off through a hail of rice.
It is apparent that something 'big' has transpired, something celebratory.
We are knee deep in the afterness of it.
The distance of time will soon arrange my memories, like cookies on a platter.