it rained in my sleep
and in the morning the fields were wet

I dreamed of artillery
of the thunder of horses

in the morning the fields were strewn
with twigs and leaves

as if after a battle
or a sudden journey

I went to sleep in the summer
I dreamed of rain

in the morning the fields were wet
and it was autumn
~Linda Pastan “September”

I can choose to fight the inevitable march of time
with sourness, sighs and sorrow,
thus arm myself with bitterness for what is no more,

or I can flow unmoved for as long as I can stay afloat,
barely aware of the passage of all taking place around me,

or I can smile at awaking each morning,
whether to sun or wind or rain and thunder,
grateful I’ve been given one more day to get it right,

or at least care enough to keep trying.