Driving home after Vespers today I think back a couple of hours to before I left home, and the coffee drink I enjoyed, and it occurs to me that I wouldn’t mind doing it again. I won’t – I can’t – do it again when I get home,
not exactly, because it’s not about the drink. It’s about reliving that moment.
And then I realize that I wouldn’t mind singing Vespers again, or going back earlier, to lunch (a baked potato), or breakfast (fried eggs and toast), or Mass. The simplest little things have been a pleasure – reading the paper, feeding the cats, getting up, sleeping with cats, and so on back into yesterday. I would happily do it all
again, if I could, and I feel – there’s no other word for it – joyful.
What was, was. What is, is. What will be?