Some days

Some days are good and some are not so great
it's funny how sometimes you know right off
you open your eyes and the sun is shining
the birds are singing the flowers are waving
all the outside things are looking as they should
but inside things are jarring, jumbling

Where is the rhyme and reason in this
why should the sun shine despite the darkness
and why is it so hard to keep the night at bay
with its mumbled murmurings of impending disaster
which create endless cycles of anxiety and doubt
if I look to the sun why see only dark clouds

The answer to this lies beyond my understanding
that much has been clear for many a year
as the clouds roll in and out at will, not mine
but perhaps the will of some universal designer
arbitrarily deciding which souls can withstand what
which are more of Job's ilk and which not

I remember reading of Job in the black leather book
of hearing what an example he was to us all
that faith untested is of little lasting value
but tempered by pain and suffering it becomes gold
what I remember was thinking what an awful thing
that God bet with Satan over the faith of a man

Such omnipotence is beyond me, this I know
and in times of trial there is much comfort
to be had in the many cadenced verses therein
the eloquent description of unceasing despair
the steadfast insistence that there's always hope
but still I am appalled at the nature of the bet

Appalled too at passing judgement in my ignorance
what know I of matters weighty only in infinity
if I can't even plan to negotiate past these clouds
to get from the morning to the evening of a single day
to edge past the seductiveness of doing nothing
to refuse crawling into yet another hibernation

Some days are are full of a sense of foreboding
knowing the clouds are gathering on the horizon
knowing that action in defence is useless
that the clouds come at a time of their own keeping
and disperse again only at an imperceptible signal
from who knows what, and from who knows where

Some days are not in any way like this though
awakening to the reassuring buzz of everyday concerns
turning on my pillow to see my gentle man snoring
padding off to make tea, to look out over the garden
planning, scheduling, juggling time and tasks
I forget to pause and be thankful for some days


  1. i love 'padding off to make tea'.

  2. What know I of matters...

    (cut and paste isn't working and I'm lazy) That bit, that piece, that few words, are supersaturated. In my mind they grow like oatmeal under hot water. My eyes are almost popping from my head! Perfectly condensed truth! Love this!