Hurry up; take a breath; savor the sunrise; no time to waste. Slow down; pause at the sound of bird songs; smell the flowers in my garden. Sing to quiet the babe, to rock her to sleep, to quiet my soul. Outta time, Outta rhyme.
All those things I’ve been meaning to do, meaning to say, meaning to forgive… Outta time, Outta rhyme.
All those coulda’s, all those woulda’ and shoulda’s, but do I still wanna’s???? Outta time, Outta rhyme.
Dance a jig with my love. They might not be here tomorrow. I might not be here the day after. Too late, no second chance. Outta time, Outta rhyme.
Learning to, no, grasping at, accepting life’s limits, my limits, the limits of time, of aging, of ambition (where did it go?). Frightened by diminishing independence while searching for more meaningful interdependence. Outta time, Outta rhyme.
Sadness at what I’ve always wanted to do but still have not accomplished. Regret for the things I wished I’d done but didn’t. Did I lack the courage? Or perhaps, I just couldn’t see where I was going and didn’t trust the journey to give me the answers. Maybe tomorrow, maybe next time (will there be a next time?). Be brave. Take that risk. Outta time, Outta rhyme.
But let’s not forget the joy, too. There has been more of that than I ever dared to dream. Grateful for what I have, so much, so much. No reason to be sad. And yet, some loved ones are already gone. I miss them deeply. They were out of time before their time. And yet, by some miracle, I am still here. Despite all the see-sawing, life has been spectacularly fine! Blessedly good. Outta time, Outta rhyme… Now’s the Time!
-Marcie Meditch
March 2024