How many doors do we walk through in a day? Have we ever stopped to ponder what will happen when we walk into a room or out of a room? Into and out of the street? A building?
It seems that I’m entering and existing all the time. Each partition that holds me even for a moment is filled with possibilities. I have met strangers who have become friends, found lost things, memories, and food for poetry. Time moves things around, even within my own room. I discover forgotten bills hidden under piles of books.
Try to “go gentle” but oftentimes it is not up to me. A storm may be brewing next door; a new reality when I open my eyes. Each day is as unpredictable as the next. I wonder how I get from there to here.
