Along the River of Days

The days pass as though they are not quite a dream. They pass like scenes seen on a river bank as time floats slowly down a languid river. The days themselves, like moments seen on the passing river bank, hold themselves out of reach.

We look, but cannot touch. We certainly cannot take the days that pass and shape each one around our lives if we were there living inside them.

We are apart and we cannot touch or change them.

This bed is our boat that floats through these days that pass outside the window. Here, the curtains flicker slowly in the breeze. We know a summer like this will not come again. The world will not wait outside our lives; respectful, keeping its distance, for much longer.

Something, some event, some entangling of time, space and events will come along and sweep us off our boat of freedom; tip us overboard into the river and cause us to swim for the banks where the days wait, ready to pull us onto their shore and back into the world we sailed away from, looking for somewhere else, somewhere of our own.

We know, even as we wrap ourselves around each other once more, that the world is out there, and those passing days will - all too soon – take us back tight into their arms and make us live through their ordinary days once again.