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William Carlos Williams
The Red Wheelbarrow
so much depends
upon
a red wheel
barrow
glazed with rain
water
beside the white
chickens
- William Carlos Williams
I spend too much time thinking of the future—not grand schemes of where I will be and who I will become, but a preoccupation with those small tomorrows, those moments so suddenly upon us. My present is distracted by what must be done after lunch, by close of business Monday, and by the end of the week. The cost of this means of existence is the loss of the only thing I actually have of value—this time, right here and right now.
Then there is the rain, which falls here often and in proud defiance of tomorrows, holding within each sparkling drop a universe of the present. The rain here, on the coast of Louisiana, reminds me of the winter rains of Paris; they bring a grayness and calm temperance that can chill to the bone and drench the soul with longing. Such cold rains can cleanse me of hopeless expectation and broken promises and remind me that the feel of water on my face as it falls from the sky is anything but an inconvenience.
From whence the rains come so comes the realization that so much, does, in fact, depend on the glistening red wheelbarrow poised just there among the white chickens. This morning I seek only simplicity and quietude and the strength to stave off the inevitability of my tomorrows.
Grab your coffee and pull up a chair. How are you this lovely morning?