The Winter of My Coming

It is the winter of my coming —

the long, drawn out days of retreat.
Over and over I ask myself,
“How do I live today?”
as if, on its own,
it is consequential,
as if every moment
is recorded and revisited,
as if every moment matters.

We live in the time
we were born into.
This one: the beginning of the end
or the renewal.
We don’t know which yet.

Fires, floods, pandemic,
freedom’s decline,
the hidden and the seen
all mixed together
in the same caldron.
We drink of it daily.
It tosses and turns
in our stomachs and minds.

Each of us full, yet hungry —
hungry for life to begin again.
We want what we had,
but those days are gone.
We move forward into the end
or the renewal.

Every choice leads to the answer.
Every moment
metered and noted,
every morning asking,
“How do I live today?”
Every step positioned
as if it matters,

because it is the only thing
that does.