Time is such an odd construct, and these days, of questionable value.
What does a year mean to you? A day? An hour?
What is anything other than a series of “Nows” piled upon each other in diminishing succession in front and behind us.
The imaginings of those moments creates feelings, responses that, unless we are careful, become our reality.
Without warning, I feel the hard sidewalk under my feet and look down to see an otter, transparent in its play and radiant with love.
Further down the block, the hipster coffee shop has opened (finally).
It’s proprietor blissfully unaware that red flannel and a full beard is so-three-years-ago.
A cinema-style marquee proclaims they are “Making Americano Great Again.”
But I’m not buying it.
What did you see?
#mymorningwalk