Waiting

Do not wait, the life is now and sometimes leaps like a fish from the water but is mostly gup-gup-gupping for food among the weeds and refracted light, poised between moments unmoving in the current. This life swims as good as any life in its dull camouflage with its entourage of ordinary feelings in tow. On land too the sun will lay its hand upon your skin no matter what the life, even if the time-space convergence that is you shifts but a degree or two in possibility. It’s true, possibly, that anything can happen but what matters is what happens, is happening in the slow tick of your momentum; the kids on the tramp this hot day, the six year old with the hose, the cool slippery, squealing fun of it as you nurse your pretensions to literary fame or your shame at not having the station that befits your age.

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