March 2nd, 2011

blow me


There it goes, winging by, that crazy thief Time. He steals days from my pocket, flits by unseen, and suddenly I look up and realize I've been robbed again. I think he swings from the trees like a monkey, arm over arm, howling with a boom that startles me awake. He sifts through the moments that flutter past, snatching them from the air while I stroll on, unalarmed and oblivious, thinking that there's more where that came from.

I'm wrong, though. There isn't more where that came from. This is the time to treasure. This time, this present, this now. The days when the children were small and fit in my lap are already gone, as if in the blink of an eye. The years flow by in a stream, but it's not endless; it's not least not for us. We dip our toes in, dive under, come up gasping. The current has moved us downstream by a month before we've caught our breath. Downstream to the end of a year before we've managed to haul ourselves dripping up into the light.

Do you know where time goes? It wrinkles up under your skin. Winkles into your pores, sinks into your joints and loosens some things and tightens others. It pulls parts of you down. It sloughs and sheds and contradictorily eases, into your very bones. It becomes a part of you but it's not yours to keep.

Beautiful! Strawberry Flower (and there's so much more!)