A Far Country

I drive the 150 or so miles from home to home yesterday, traveling from where I now live to where I once did – to family and gatherings, to laughter and memories, to new rituals and old – whenever I take this drive, I am literally traveling into my own past – maybe that’s part of the problem – the present is not my past and thus cannot sustain my expectations, whatever they may be, for things are not the same nor should they be – I’m not so why would they be?  But maybe that’s the thing – that I am not the same cries out for something to remain unchanged and what better terrain than my past – already written and rewritten long ago – but of course, it is not my past into which I travel – that trick of mind simply will not do and each change in the lay of the land chants change . . . change . . . change . . . and it, if not all, is well and for today, that will do.