Drowsy car rides delicious like buttered cinnamon toast. Luxury of stretching time as thirty five minutes expand into a warm eternity.

It has the feeling of forever.

Same as a first love and the early autumns of your life.

The same as the excitement before the first day of school and swimming during summer break.

A moon so bright and clear you can pick out the craters like aphids on strawberries.

The air is so fresh you could inhale the world.

It has all the makings of a divine day.

But even looking at the dappled sheets of sherbet that color the setting sky, it’s hard to imagine I’ll remember the crisp purity of this moment.

The bright yellow sprouts on a green frond.

A panting ochre dog hanging out the rear view window of a blue Robin egg cat.

No— I doubt I will remember much of this day in any time at all.

A gentle patter into the pool of frozen time

That singular time important to me— and yet not important at all.

Because I cannot hoard it. Cannot bend a meaning or force a gain.

You submit to time— or are dragged by it. Either way it carries you.

Like my feet carry me as my stained white ASICS scrape over the cracked cement at the neighborhood park.

Where I halt to hear the rustle of animals stirring in the brush.

The frenzied call of a bird sounding more like a bubble machine than animal. The “chit chit chit” of distant birds and the long horn of an incoming jetfoil boat.

The moon overhead slung like a lazy seer. Hanging over the horizon as it shifts waves.