The grain grew. Became rough. Hard to go against.
A backwards shave;
A cat petted the wrong way.
A glance back over shoulder, surreptitious and noticed.
Paint dried; while grass grows; watching weather change.
All happening so quickly in slowness.
All this static equillibrium ages me.
I try to move.
I move too fast.
My metabolism disallows stillness, to my chagrin.
The coarse grains leave red rubs on skin as I run through and past.
Like Indianburns kids give one another.
Quickly, I could try, yet again, to slow.
Stop the friction.
But the mind remains in motion.
A moving mind turns its gears smoother when the containing body,
Itself, takes to motion.
A walk ; a pose held ; breathwork on tip toes.
Lubricating mental wheels as well as nicotene used to.
But the condition of Past is of coarse kind, immutable but in memory.
The potential of Future is, of course, smooth like young skin.
Ripe for wrinkling.
The current Present separates the two
-The coarse and the smooth-
-The rubber meeting the road-
Past and Future create Now
Always it is Now.
So present me as I am and wil’t.
Here ampersand Now.