Today's challenge is to write a poem in the form of a letter to an inanimate object, including a song lyric, historical fact, odd adjective/noun combination, a fruit, a neighborhood street, and a measure of distance.
Dear Time,
How are you, dear friend? I've heard you've done a lot of flying lately.
I've always been here, but where are you?
You always seem to be flying away somewhere mysterious. Some would say I abuse you. How is this possible? Goodness knows, I've tried to behave wisely with regard to you, but, to tell the truth, I'm forever, well, often, blowing bubbles. Like, when visiting the centuries-old astronomical observatory, Jantar Mantar, in New Delhi, I'm fascinated by the ochre shapes of the place as much or more than their accuracy in reflecting the time and the season. And then I have to admit, Oh, it's time to go?...But I haven't read the inscriptions yet...etc.
Do you suppose it's deliberate distraction? Can't be...that's an oxymoron anyway,
I think. There you go again...'I think'...I think thinking distracts me. When I'm trying to leave my house, I keep thinking of one thing or another that I could/should do first, and suddenly it's time to be where I'm supposed to be, and I haven't left yet. Same thing from room to room. Same thing from topic to topic in a conversation.
I really appreciate the times you've laid out a timeline or schedule for me, like the day I had to remember to bring the smoked turkey and grape salad for the potluck at Nancy's place a couple of blocks down and two houses over, on Venus Avenue. Even though I haven't always 'come through', to being on time, it helps, and keeps me in touch with the goal...I do try.
At any rate, Time, I've told you a little about how I feel. I hope you are okay with that. I hope that we can continue this dialogue sometime in the future. I need all of you that I can get. I hope to see you soon!
Love, Shirley
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