In case you don’t generally click the “Related” posts at the bottom of the page, here’s one you missed yesterday, originally posted Aug. 6, 2024. I don’t remember writing this but I’m glad I did.
I could take a dog for a walk through the forest and the fields,
but there’s a stack of things I haven’t done.
I could go to a beach and watch the waves come in and stick my toes in the sand,
but there’s a stack of things I haven’t done.
I could read a book full of adventure or insight or both,
but there’s a stack of things I haven’t done.
I could listen to music or make some,
but there’s a stack of things I haven’t done.
I could get in the car and not stop until I reach a place I’ve never seen,
but there’s a stack of things I haven’t done.
I could call some old friends or write them a note,
but there’s a stack of things I haven’t done.
For every impulse I have to do something wonderful,
there’s a stack of other somethings I haven’t done.
When I’m breathing my last, it won’t be all said and done —
there’ll be a stack of things I haven’t done.
And so I walk with the dog and I find me a beach,
I listen to music and write an old friend,
because the stack of things I haven’t done must wait a little longer while I go live a life.
