Toast Poast Number Tween

Between

Enough behind and enough ahead
To know where you’re going and where you have been
Don’t think too fast or sleep too deep
Keep track of your dogs and mind your sheep

Look straight ahead and watch your back
Read the signs and lay good track
With sky above, concrete below
Cash on hand, more yes than no

He is between, as he was born. Not to get too existential, but aren’t we all?

I feel that I’m always behind, always late, a chronic case of “it takes all the running you can do to keep in the same place.” A curse that could be lifted with a  simple flip of the brain switch.  My emotional clock could be, or might have been,  perpetually punctual. That clock, however is more like a sundial, made of stone, immovable, locked and loaded through years of training.

“Mom,” he said at about age 7, after he learned to tell time. “It’s never the time that the clock says, it is always becoming the next time.”  For him there is hope. His clock is liquid.

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