That Time Flies Thing Hit Again!
Would you believe it's March! Was just getting my head through the fog of February when March slid right in via a temporary sunbeam. Last seen, I was sweeping up the mental xmas tree debri. Europe is quickening. The weather of politics is no more clear than the fog swirling around me. Well, we are all equally foggy on the truth. Germany flaunts it's economic success, while the Germans grumble at higher wurst prices and tightening belts. Their normal girth does not like it. France drags itself along as the streets erupt in lieu of a new election and the UK stands adamant in it's vision of "independence". As people flood over the borders into the mystical German Land Of Plenty, Europe rocks and cracks despite the slap-happy bandaging of short-term policies. Reality Bites, as they say...
I am sitting, waiting for my usual, late SBahn. Contrary to legend, German efficiency is as elusive as the sunken city of Atlantis. The public announcement system has relayed in robotic antics that our train we be further delayed for another 10 minutes. Ah! So that is where my elusive time has gone! Stuck somewhere down the tracks. The crowd around me shuffles, discontented, cold and individually isolated. Some are reading, others tuned out as they are tuned in. A few stand up to the edge of the platform, looking out, as if they could pull the train out of the fog, to them. Snow begins to fall. Everyone wants to be somewhere else...
No, not everyone. There is a small child, a little boy, skipping around his mother. He is here, now. Not worried about late trains, irate bosses, rising wurst prices. He is playing with the snow as it falls, beautiful, now.
Many years ago, someone wrote me a poem. I was only 16 and he was ever so much older than I. All of -23, perhaps. This poem, which I still have, was entitled: "Forever A Child". And, he wrote a poetic request. That I forever keep the child spirit inside of me, that he perceived. A Child! At 16, he was calling me a Child! This was verging on insult. But,I kept it, and recently found it again. Flattened and faded in an old book.
Now,so many years later, I can say thank-you. For the compliment. And, albeit a bit bruised, that child is still here. Time seems to fly by, so much faster, as we get older. We seem to lose it as we wait. Wait for trains, people, events. All that waiting for things that might never come, or, come late. We always hope it's not "too late"....
Now is not too late. I still love to look up and put out my tongue to taste a snowflake, pet a bumblebee and climb a tree. I want to see what is over the next hill, and follow my heart where it leads, even if only after a butterfly. My life is not bound by a train schedule, only by what I allow myself to look up and see. Tomorrow will always be a mystery, no matter what I have "planned". Yesterday is gone, a gift of memories and favorite characters, I pick up like an unending storybook. Today, today is where I am now. It's the only one. I don't have to wait for it. It's already here.
So, as the world around me blares out the dire news, and politicians rant and the price of wurst has indeed gone up, unlike my salary- I shall take the moments in-between and notice the crocuses are blossoming and the bakery smells heavenly from the fresh batch of bread steaming in the window. I invite you to join me,for a moment, and forget what time it is...
I am sitting, waiting for my usual, late SBahn. Contrary to legend, German efficiency is as elusive as the sunken city of Atlantis. The public announcement system has relayed in robotic antics that our train we be further delayed for another 10 minutes. Ah! So that is where my elusive time has gone! Stuck somewhere down the tracks. The crowd around me shuffles, discontented, cold and individually isolated. Some are reading, others tuned out as they are tuned in. A few stand up to the edge of the platform, looking out, as if they could pull the train out of the fog, to them. Snow begins to fall. Everyone wants to be somewhere else...
No, not everyone. There is a small child, a little boy, skipping around his mother. He is here, now. Not worried about late trains, irate bosses, rising wurst prices. He is playing with the snow as it falls, beautiful, now.
Many years ago, someone wrote me a poem. I was only 16 and he was ever so much older than I. All of -23, perhaps. This poem, which I still have, was entitled: "Forever A Child". And, he wrote a poetic request. That I forever keep the child spirit inside of me, that he perceived. A Child! At 16, he was calling me a Child! This was verging on insult. But,I kept it, and recently found it again. Flattened and faded in an old book.
Now,so many years later, I can say thank-you. For the compliment. And, albeit a bit bruised, that child is still here. Time seems to fly by, so much faster, as we get older. We seem to lose it as we wait. Wait for trains, people, events. All that waiting for things that might never come, or, come late. We always hope it's not "too late"....
Now is not too late. I still love to look up and put out my tongue to taste a snowflake, pet a bumblebee and climb a tree. I want to see what is over the next hill, and follow my heart where it leads, even if only after a butterfly. My life is not bound by a train schedule, only by what I allow myself to look up and see. Tomorrow will always be a mystery, no matter what I have "planned". Yesterday is gone, a gift of memories and favorite characters, I pick up like an unending storybook. Today, today is where I am now. It's the only one. I don't have to wait for it. It's already here.
So, as the world around me blares out the dire news, and politicians rant and the price of wurst has indeed gone up, unlike my salary- I shall take the moments in-between and notice the crocuses are blossoming and the bakery smells heavenly from the fresh batch of bread steaming in the window. I invite you to join me,for a moment, and forget what time it is...
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