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A poem to ponder:
time
always measured, always quantified
sometimes labeled: good times, bad times, happy times, sad times
sometimes identified by the big, monumental
mark-it-on-the-calendar kinda times
but then other times feel in-between
the pending time
the not-yet time
the patiently waiting time.
the time that is the space between
the beginning and the end of something.
planting the seed and repairing the harvest
casting the line and reeling in the big one
grinding the beans and taking the first sip
having the dream and seeing its magic played out
charting the course and reaching the summit
paddling out and riding the waves
starting the oven and buttering the bread
saying hello and living happily ever after
reading the first line and finishing the story.
it is here, in the mundane and in the not yet and in the unknown
as we patiently wait for what’s to come
when things begin shifting
the stories we’ll someday tell are being written
life is unfolding and lessons are being learned.
and I bet you more times than not, when we look back
it’ll be this space-this moment in time-we waited for all along.
- Billy Jack Brawner
Happy Summer Solstice, dear friends...
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