Living in the gap, the space between past and future, is not an easy task. I spend so much time redeveloping the past, or worrying about the future, I lose sight of the present. For example, just this morning, I have no idea why, but I was writing the first line of my obituary in my head while enjoying my morning coffee. Seems odd but when you get to know me it makes sense.

I considered the sentimental thoughts that would make the final draft, I admired the sense of peace I always felt in her presence, or didn’t she have a smile for everyone. Then I started worrying about my past behavior, like yesterday when I pounded my fist on the counter while cussing like a sailor, because a contact got stuck in my left eye, or when I spent an entire hour lamenting over an old argument while lounging in bed, and ostensively glared at my husband because he walked into the room.  

I came back to present when I took a sip of cold coffee and was forced to make a trip to the kitchen for a warm-up.  That’s when the black birds shooting the shit out on the front lawn caught my attention. It’s a holiday weekend and garbage pick-up was delayed. Ruffled feathers and endless squawking over a minor difficulty is typical of a crow’s life. 

I lean back on the counter and realize that could be my line…