Ain't it funny how time slips away.

Billions of years pass from nothing to the universe. Little accidents become planets and stars and galaxies and fish and dumplings and works of art. Little momentary mishaps trip along with the air of pig-tailed girls who couldn't imagine being otherwise. Things that can't be predicted or planned happen as if they had every right in the world to do so.

Some mornings I am excited to see what the next moment will be. I try to imagine. I am a child eyeing a wrapped gift beneath a Christmas tree, analyzing the size, the shape, the aura of the mysterious box in a vain attempt to deduce the contents.

Some nights I am gripped with fear wondering what the next moment will be. There are so few things that I love and any moment could be the one that steals those treasures from me. I think of stars that have died a million years ago - massive, glowing, powerful sailors who simply cease to be. What a weak light my passions are beside those and how easily they would be diminished.

Then again there are stars that I see every night that may have died years ago. And yet there they shine. Bold and shrugging and not going quietly into that dark night.