Anticipation
The edges of the Now are fragile and slide so swiftly past that they hardly seem to exist at all. Everything is pouring itself into history, widening the boundaries to make way.
What was is but a liquid memory, an interpretation of impressions caught on the fly. And the present hangs suspended, pregnant and waiting, over time’s stream.
On its currents the glistening tomorrows ride, pushing their fragrance before them. The whole world is filled with their scent. And we, who stand here on the shore, breathe it in greedy gulps, mesmerized by its possibilities and reveling in anticipation.
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