Daylight Slipping through My Toes

The sunset is visible just above my toes and through the hammock in which I'm reclined. The robin sings sweetly in the maple tree beyond the fence, and I can almost make out its lyrics:

Swing slowly. Breathe deeply. Let tomorrow worry about itself.

He's singing to me. He can somehow subliminally sense my inhibitions and anxieties. My sense of sand slipping through the hourglass, my mourning for the passing of the present, my projected nostalgia for events that have not yet happened. The end of eras, the conclusion of vacations, the transformation of relationships, the decline of familiarity... If I dwell on these thoughts, though, I find myself forgetting the wisdom of the robin.

This moment is to be enjoyed. Swing slowly. Breathe deeply. Let tomorrow worry about itself.