Timing is Everything

Marriage Circa 2011, ©2011, H.Hunter, Collage: paper and acrylic paint

This poem by W.S. Merwin in a recent New Yorker caught my eye, mind and heart. Perfect for spring, when newborn leaves emerge suddenly while you're inside, retrieving a paintbrush you forgot.


going too fast for myself I missed more than I think I can remember almost everything it seems sometimes  and yet there are chances that come back

that I did not notice when they stood where I could have reached out and touched them this morning the black shepherd dog still young looking up and saying Are you ready this time

Merwin ends the poem so abruptly--as if he's just turned his head to look down at his dog. Doesn't it often seem like this--that those chances to catch something very important pass by in the blink of an eye?