A Synchronistic Gift

In a few days I'll be heading out on a major trip,
a life-time, bucket list kind of trip. As I was walking this morning I was working through mixed feelings. Excitement about the upcoming trip mingled with a sadness that I travel alone.

I long ago decided that I had two choices, to sit home and wait for a companion to share my life with, or to get on with my life, companion or not. I don't want to get to the end of my days regretting what I haven't done, filled with should haves and could haves.

Part of my walk took me past past the neighborhood's poetry fence, maintained by a lovely woman. The fence is covered with poems and artwork, Along the fence is a poetry mailbox, filled the poems. People passing by are invited to take a poem.

This is the poem I drew:

Negative Space by Ron Koertge

My dad taught me to pack: lay out everything. Put back half. Roll things
that roll. Wrinkle-prone things on top of cotton things. Then pants, waist-
to-hem. Nooks and crannies for socks. Belts around the sides like snakes.
Plastic over that. Add shoes. Wear heavy stuff on the plane.
      We started when I was little. I’d roll up socks. Then he’d pretend to put me
in the suitcase, and we’d laugh. Some guys bond with their dads shooting
hoops or talking about Chevrolets. We did it over luggage.
      By the time I was twelve, if he was busy, I’d pack for him. Mom tried
but didn’t have the knack. He’d get somewhere, open his suitcase and text
me—”Perfect.” That one word from him meant a lot.
      The funeral was terrible—him laid out in that big carton and me crying
and thinking, Look at all that wasted space.

A perfect piece, for the (packing) and travels I'm about to undertake. And even more importantly, a message about wasting space, or as I take it, wasting time.

Each of us has a limited amount of time, it's up to us to use that time as fully as possible.

Artwork & words by Terry Rowe, photography available at www.terryrowe.photography.

I am grateful for all of your comments and views.