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The Gift of Now
By Ann Fowler
A hedge row stitches suede sky to
I brake for a weathered truck and read the “eat
beef” bumper sticker.
My pulse slows as Public Radio plays Jesu, Joy of Man’s
‘Tis the season of joy and love, the celebration of
I study a cloud blowing across the sky
And feel the wind pushing my Intrepid;
the inevitability of death is not in season.
The truck stops; turns left
I return the farmer’s wave and feel the upturn of my
A smile. Joy. Life.
Soon I will be home with a man who does not remember
when he ate, the date or sometimes my name -
the sum of life in the now.
He would have enjoyed the fast moving cloud.
I regret he is not with me.
I once believed the polish of marriage was in the memory
Each photo lovingly placed in an album represented a
When the now of yesterday is gone, what do we cherish?
The now embraces each moment as a new birth.
A shared smile captures forever.
A cloud echoes celestial joy.
Holding hands is the all of life.
Wise men (and women) – farmers in red trucks,
Men without memory and you, sages all,
Celebrate the birth of love in a solitary cloud, a
a touch in the nativity of a moment.