Sounds prophetic, doesn’t it? A title like this one at the top of the page. Best sellers with titles like “Left Yo Bohunkas Behind” have been written with great fervor about the signs.

I mean, we could get deep into the weeds on the significance of current day politics. We are so beyond the rumors of war that we couldn’t make up anything as insane as the reality. There must be over a dozen good candidates who would fit perfectly into the role of the Pale Rider who leaves death and destruction in his path.

But since I haven’t watched even one minute of the evening news or chased a single news feed on social media in the last five years, I can’t possibly be qualified to offer any meaningful assessment of our current situation as seen through the lens of the modern day eschatalogical-biblio-political scene.

I am, however, qualified to speak on another particular set of signs. These signs are not hidden, yet they sneak up on you. They are not theological in nature, but they are clear indicators that the end is nearer than it used to be.

I have been reading a rather massive book lately. In fact, I just completed all 478 pages the other day. I have never in my life read such a lengthy dissertation on any given subject. I was plowing new ground.

Something happened over the course of this experience.

For years I have read with my glasses off. My eyes are such a mix of near and far-sighted peculiarities, complicated by astigmatism in both eyes, that my lap-distance vision is better without the spectacles.

I also prefer a comfy seat in the recliner when I read. A good lamp on the side table. A touch of acoustic blues on low volume in the background.

This is how I get it done. These are the conditions under which I have turned the pages on everything from Thomas Jefferson to Gary Larson.

Two years ago my eye doctor told me I have cataracts which are beginning to develop in both eyes. Nothing alarming. Just early signs.

“Are you having trouble seeing well enough to drive?” he asked.

“Do the lights at night appear to have a halo around them?”

“Does it strain your eyes to read?”

To each question my answer was in the negative. I hadn’t noticed any change in my sight. I had never failed the eye exam for my DOT medical card. With my glasses, the eye chart was a breeze.

Without my glasses my ability to see is a mixed bag. Because I am near-sighted in my right eye and far-sighted in my left, I can actually function pretty well without the aid of corrective lenses.

Like I said, I read best without them. But I can also look out across the backyard at some considerable distance and distinguish a cow from a human.

“Look,” I shout. “It’s an animal.”

All of this explains how at certain times I can lay my glasses down to look at something up close, then get distracted by going to get something out of the closet, and an hour later realize I don’t have my glasses on.

At that point, the problem is that I can’t remember where I laid my glasses down. To make matters worse, I need my glasses in order to find my glasses.

A pair of brown glasses disappear into oblivion on a brown table, or a brown chair, or almost any dark colored surface. I can see well enough not to walk into the wall. I just can’t distinguish the finer details of the room at about ten feet from my face.

I have gone through the entire optical lineup of bifocal, trifocal, and progressive lenses. I have learned to tip my head upward while holding a soup can at my beltline in order to read the fine print on the label.

The digital solution to fine print is to take a picture of it with my phone so I can expand it with my thumb and index finger until it looks like a LARGE PRINT edition of whatever I’m trying to read.

I do this quite often with assembly instructions. This helps me to identify part A from part B. I do the same with electronic letters from Social Security and the menu at the Mexican restaurant.

None of this, however, came to me as a sign of anything other than normalcy. My eyesight has never been great. I couldn’t read the chalkboard from the back of the room in Miss Betty’s first grade class. I have never been blind as a bat, but I have always had less than perfect vision.

Back to the 478 page book.

I am reclined in my normal reading position. Too much of a recline and I doze off. But that’s a story of another sign for another time.

The lamp is on. The soft glow of a 60w bulb is illuminating the pages from over my right shoulder. My glasses are resting on the side table. I’m tilting the book back and forth trying to find the optimal angle.

There’s a knock at the door. The internet guy is here to take a look at my modem, which is in the dark corner behind the TV. So, I turn on the overhead lights in the room in order to help him see what he’s doing.

He does his thing. We chat about stuff. He gets my service back online and heads off to his next service call.

When I take my seat to continue reading I notice a change. I can see the page with stunning clarity. The letters are not blurred. The words are jumping off the page at my eyeballs.

I check for my glasses. They’re still lying on the table. I look around the room. The details on the fireplace screen are in focus. I can see the numbers on the mantle clock.

It’s like a miraculous healing.

Then it hits me. The overhead lights are still on. Six recessed light fixtures, each one holding a 60w R30 bulb with enough collective power to light up a small runway.

Just to test my discovery I got up and turned off the lights. I sat again to read by the lamplight I have always used. The results were overwhelming.

Here’s my sign.

My eyes aren’t getting worse.

I just need more light.