As much as I might claim otherwise, I sometimes find myself ‘drifting’ through days – life and memories, back and forth between the past and present, and quite often into an improbable future.

At times, my absence is hardly noticed; at others, the person to miss my presence most is me.

Mornings are my favorite time for traveling.

In the hour it takes me to get to work, I can traverse years, miles and lifetimes.  There are no calls to make, so I drive without much distraction, often arriving at work with no clear remembrance of passing the post office or picking up coffee.  Some might call it multi-tasking of another kind altogether.

It’s what I do, and suspect I’m not alone in my comings and goings.

Yet now and again, I am pulled from my reverie by the most unlikely of culprits. One such diversion is a dear friend I call Red. Red is a hawk that sits atop the powerline, just at the point where my country road turns to the highway. While I’d love to think he watches for me, I suspect he’s perched with a clear view of nearby fields while awaiting breakfast.

On days he isn’t there, I imagine him soaring over other fields, or dividing spoils among a nest of open mouths.

But when he is there, he is a sweet reminder, a gentle pull backward from the edge of nothing into the moment where glory resides.

Of all I could waste, let not this moment be lost.

I’ve seen you there
awaiting tides –
that I might turn
to find you
perched above the altar
to my soul

. . .