It feels as though I*m living in a time warp. I could swear that it*s been at least a year or two since the seizure. And a year or two to go until June when I can drive, barring any new seizure. Things look good for June. Time is hurtling by for those around me. For me it creeps and crawls. Somehow, it feels like God has taken over all counting: the counting of days, the counting of clients. Meanwhile, God is packing those same long days with gift after gift after gift, things I somehow hadn*t noticed, a few new things, maybe things that have been there all along. I guess I needed the extra minutes to notice.
Then there is the pile of dirt in the back yard, waiting.
Yesterday they came and edged the garden bed out front
Cleaned up the back.
It seemed early for the lawn people.
I planned to do it myself
But didn*t say it
Last year*s thistle composted,
Maybe this year I will watch
a new singular plant
through the cycle.
The old fallen edges of the boxed garden
I will begin again
In the heap of dirt,
Plenty of time from now to June.
People talk time*s rush.
This year every minute has been expanded to two
The days multiplied the same.
There is more
To be done.
God has taken over
The naming of the hours
I cannot depend on my own numbers.
I know there are hours and days
And months to go.
And the heap of dirt.
Plenty of time from now