I want to know that far from now I will still fuss over the shape of my hair and the shoes that lengthen posture, straightening shoulders.  I want to know that the morning will still catch some part of my heart with its potential and that my bones even will wonder at the way a day begins with a small shift, a change in figure, time's scrawling lines body-wide.

More than that, I want to believe that I will have sunk my sin, raised my spirit.  I want to hope in the perseverance of the wilderness.  Trust in the victory of the valley. I will recognize the graciousness of the small, lighted places along the way and praise during maddeningly bleak ones.

Years from now I want to feel more a woman, more a mystery.  I will widen words, love beauty honor grace.  I will remember some things and chose to forget others.

Suppose I do not have years from now.

I will pray over now.  I will be so wildly now, so completely now, it will not escape me.  I will measure carefully, pursue the minute.  And then some days I will throw my hands high over my head and spend them without caution, toss them about me and run knees high through the now.