"The Gift" by William Stafford

Mondays can be hard--especially if you've had the weekend off and enjoyed your weekend. Sometimes it's hard to see the joy and happiness in a Monday, admittedly most Mondays I DO NOT see the inherent goodness of the start of my work week. I'm going to try...for this Monday at least...to see tomorrow as a gift, to see a certain happiness in the some aspect of what the day offers. Maybe you can too?


The Gift

Time wants to show you a different country. It's the one
that your life conceals, the one waiting outside
when curtains are drawn, the one Grandmother hinted at
in her crochet design, the one almost found
over at the edge of the music, after the sermon.

It's the way life is, and you have it, a few years given.
You get killed now and then, violated
in various ways. (And sometimes it's turn about.)
You get tired of that. Long-suffering, you wait
and pray, and maybe good things come - maybe
the hurt slackens and you hardly feel it any more.
You have a breath without pain. It is called happiness.

It's a balance, the taking and passing along,
the composting of where you've been and how people
and weather treated you. It's a country where
you already are, bringing where you have been.
Time offers this gift in its millions of ways,
turning the world, moving the air, calling,
every morning, "Here, take it, it's yours.

- William Stafford (poem found here)