There was an old stop sign at the corner
of my lot,
where the two roads meet,
and the angled iron sign post,
with all those little holes in it,
was showing its age,
telling tales of rains and winds, snows,
and the occasional bump of the blade
of the town snow plow
as it followed the curve of the corner.
It was a beaten but proud victim of time,
without defense against the elements
and the pains hurled at it by the years,
and the obvious signs of age,
overlooked by most,
unless you knew how to look…

The rust was starting to eat
and it had a voracious appetite
as evidenced by the damage done
to that one piece of metal, that still,
defiantly, perhaps,
held that equally old stop sign aloft,
still standing there through all the things
of time and life…
And then one day, the sign
and the old and worn post
were gone.

Removed by the members of the town highway department,
by direction of someone
who was made aware of the sad condition
of that faithful old sign and signpost…
just… gone.

And replaced by a new post, holding a new sign…
all shiny and pretty
and now standing in place of the old one
that had been removed,
to make way for the new and improved sign and post.
Such is life, my friend.
It happens to all of us eventually.
It happens to everything, eventually.
Time.
It can be a blessing,
and it can be a bitter sadness —
as proven in the life of an old sign and signpost…
no longer needed,
no longer wanted,
and so easily repaced by something
new and improved and better.

But I stil miss that old sign
at the corner of my lot.
I had a lot in common with that old sign.
I wonder when it will be my turn.

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