"I couldn’t tell one song from another,

which bird said what or to whom or for what reason.

The oak tree seemed to be writing something using very few words.

I couldn’t decide what door to open – they looked the same, or what

would happen when I did reach out and turn a knob. I thought I was safe,

standing there

but my death remembered its date:

only so many summer nights still stood before me, full moon, waning moon,

October mornings: what to make of them? which door?

I couldn’t tell which stars were which or how far away any one of them was,

or which were still burning or not – their light moving through space like a

long

late train – and I’ve lived on this earth so long – 50 winters, 50 springs and

summers,

and all this time stars in the sky – in daylight

when I couldn’t see them, and at night when, most nights, I didn’t look."

-Marie Howe

Sandy read this in our meeting today. I laughed at the time because of how pertinent it felt. Thought I should post it here. Possibility based on choice and time and timing. *sigh*