Change

Change is elusive, like the mosquito I see out the corner of my eye and disappears when I turn, only to wake the next morning with a bite.

“You’ve changed,” my friend says. He has nothing else to say and doesn’t call again.

Have I changed? I know I have. From what to what? I talk less. I listen more. I am not so sure of myself, not ready with the answer, the solution, the right way. Nothing bothers me. Little interests me. Each day is new, changed, the same.

Spring changes to summer changes to fall changes to winter. I flow with the seasons. Change is attachment to the difference between the past and the present, but I forgive now, let the past be, and the present is.

I am a raindrop, a stream, a pond. Change is not for me. Change is for those who remember, and dream.