Where is Someday? Before us, behind, below? Be damned if I know. We bury Someday.
Plan to dig it up later. Or we toss it to the sky, believing it will return, a boomerang, bright as a nickel all new and polished. We step around it softly. We circle it like a secret. We wait for it to reveal itself-- a yellow Spring blossom, an ocean of sunshiny sparkles, Winter’s whirling whiteness, a golden leaf, a baby’s ten fingers, ten toes, even money in our pockets, green as a gargoyle’s spiteful eye.
Sometimes Someday scares us in the dark shadows of what ifs and what fors, if onlys. Sometimes we play cat and mouse with it and forget we are the prey in this game. We limp onward, betting against time.
We rename it Tomorrow, and it magically becomes Yesterday. We float through the transition, numb with imagination, a plan slantwise. The worse thing we do with Someday is to ignore it. It will shake its fist at you, yes you. It rants, becomes a mocking giant, then puddles around your feet, a pile of never worn shorn clothes.
After many years teaching others about the English language, Marsha is now a full-time learner, experiencing anew the joy of reading and writing.