Wednesday, November 4, 2009

what we have is today

In all of my anxiety and worry over the future –

which comes and goes with the tide, the moon’s phases, the seasons’ change,

often I forget the fact that what I do have is today. And today, whether I realize it or not, is a priceless gift.

Christina at {mytopography} recently wrote a beautiful post entitled {What we have today}

In it, she paints a soft, yet vivid picture of the treasures that encompass a day, her day, in all of its significant details.

Two passages from her post has stuck with me ever since, but in truth, the entire passage is really quite poignant and beautiful.


The morning comes again, the way it always does: too early, and I am heavy limbed among the flannel sheets. Sprout is kicking next to me, awake with the first light and sucking on his hands. He knows all the secrets of delight. I have yet to arrive entirely in my lumbering body: in the tendons that connect my bones, in my soft breasts and legs and heavy thighs. I have forgotten much.

Today it is this: what we have ends, begins, ends again, always. And when it’s over, all that we have becomes a fragile calliope of winding song, a muse, a promise, a thin silver thread connecting us to the other side.


In a week where I find myself exceptionally busy and already tired half-way through, I stop and cling to the thought that this moment -

This very moment with fingers on keys is what I have right now.


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