There is a false faith in tomorrow. Sometimes when I lie awake at night I pray that tomorrow things will look and feel different. Or the opposite, I hope that tomorrow things will be the same. In reality, tomorrow never comes, it only exists in my hopeful mind.
Swimming, One Day In August
by Mary Oliver
It is time now, I said,
For the deepening and quieting of the spirit
among the flux of happenings.
Something had pestered me so much
I thought my heart would break.
I mean, the mechanical part.
I went down in the afternoon
to the sea
which held me, until I grew easy.
About tomorrow, who knows anything.
Except that it will be time, again,
for the deepening and quieting of the spirit.
I write on Fridays with a large group who inspire me. Only five minutes and without much thought to perfection. I write, prompted by one word that sends my thoughts to the keyboard and hopefully make sense.