Travelling backwards on the 10:54
the past blurs in sideview
stretching ahead, growing distant
True passing.
What’s yet to come hides behind,
emerging into low sun cutting
winter boughs. Life stirs within.
And being blind to the future,
beholden to anticipation
alone, without clear sight
of a past speeding by
too fast to revisit,
doesn’t really matter.
None of it matters.
There is now.
~ Sandie Zand, February 2019
sandie zand 