This is the fine post my blogger friend Ben Hewitt posted yesterday:
Every day I drive the gravel road toward home, from one outing or another, and I see the flush of green creeping slowly up the mountain. Every day a little greener, a little higher. At home I feed the cows from the remaining reserves of hay, watch for a moment as they curl their long tongues around a chosen tuft, then retract the tongue and chew in that slow, side-to-side way of ruminants. Ignoring me. For what good am I now? They have their hay, and tomorrow must seem a long ways off.
It’s ok. They’ll like me again in the morning.
This is the comment that a reader named Clair left upon reading Ben’s post:
I love this life! Waiting for retirement!
This is my comment to Clair upon reading his/her comment:
Why wait, Clair?
This is what jumped full-frontal into my mind just now (via Shakespeare):
Tomorrow, and tomorrow, and tomorrow,
Creeps in this petty pace from day to day,
To the last syllable of recorded time… .
Which is to say (and I’m commenting again):
Let’s each of us act now and now and now.
Ben’s post is here: