Times That Hold Themselves Out Of Reach

If the days that fall here, around our feet, like the petals of that dying flower you left behind in the vase, ever give us moments to remember, then it is times like this.

Times when the world seems poised on the verge of something, times when possibilities seem to hang there, suspended on the air like the scents of flowers on warm evening breezes. Times that hold themselves out of reach; around corners and just too high to touch, or buried under the dust we walk through to reach these waiting days. Each day seems to be waiting for us to take it in our hands and make it belong to us.

Each morning feels early as though it is too soon to begin anything and each night seems too late, as though the day has slipped away before we have been able to hold on to it.

In between those mornings and those nights, we have sat here in these chairs, occasionally glancing up to watch each other, and – just maybe – to catch a glimpse of one of those possibilities for the day lingering on the still air that lies between us. Just like so many of those other days we never got around to using, before they too fell like the petals of those dying flowers left behind in that vase.