How easily we allow ourselves to get caught up in a whirlwind about one thing or another. When events seem to conspire against us, we hope and pray that they will go away, but first we want them resolved in our favor, of course. And soon! We may lie awake at night wondering when something is going to happen, when something is going to end, and when are we going to feel much, much better.
We always seem to be sitting in the back seat, wondering, "When are we going to get there!"
I know that this kind of thing never happens to you, Pilgrims, but certain recent events reminded me of a moderately silly poem I wrote a couple of years ago; we had just visited a friend's house far, far to the north, then further to the southeast, then a short sail from a long dock. I thought it might be worth sharing (Note: For those of you viewing this on a phone-screen, the lines may get jumbled. Google is working on it):
Road-Trip
Alone in the back seat,
parents in front,
maybe grandparents ahead
or behind
in a house with creaks
and smells.
Life,
like driving up to Maine,
coastal route,
in and out, town after town,
rock after rock,
breaker after breaker,
white paint, white paint, white paint,
fog here and there.
Tee-shirt, sweater, jacket,
tee-shirt.
Sticky leather seat, mom’s
godawful music.
Are we there yet? No!
Regular choir up there,
sun melting the dash.
Find a space, lug the bags,
run for tickets,
board the mailboat,
climb the dock, walk the sandy path,
fishy smell, welcoming gull.
Are we there yet? Yes!
Life.
Soon as we arrive,
we want to go home.
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