Forever is Composed of Moments

Sunset on a cloudy day.

Have you ever wished for a moment to last, just a little longer? On a cold winter’s evening, when the candles are all lit? When the hum of electric current has fallen dead, and conversations turn towards home and hearth, not bustle and business. Have you ever wished to prolong a moment–to listen to the whip of birdsong, startling the frozen silence, a thousand times over–just to hear a new melody each time? Or to notice how the snow falls differently with each flake?

Have you ever regretted a moment after it has passed? When you hear the sound of a branch casting down its white shawl, and turn just in time to miss the powdered flurries fluttering down? Or as you revisit the chalk covered pathways of your youth and stop at a pool of memories, sticking your fingers into the cool waters. Do you wish you could go back, if only for a moment? If only to see the world through a child’s eyes, once more.

Do you recognize the beauty of a moment, before it’s gone? Are you like the masses, who trudge through their stock standard, beige trench coat, tear-streaked bus station days? Do you look out those grimy windows and see cinder block rows, or the fingerprints of those who made them? When you see a graveyard, do you whistle for the dead? Do they not also deserve a song? Do you whistle for the living?

Do you listen?
Do you see?
Do you have eyes that are covered,
Or are you more like me?