As I drove in the dark
Past the tobacco fields,
Sopping wet
From the torrential rains,
I became aware
Of this singular moment in time.
I read somewhere
That some doctor
Did some study
That said the present,
The actual, current,
As-it’s-happening present,
Is anywhere from three to twelve seconds.
So three to twelve seconds
Is all we have
To recognize what’s happening,
As-it’s-happening,
Before the present
Becomes the past
And is lost forever,
Faded into memory-
Even the short term kind.
And there I was
My cigarette in my left hand,
Holding the steering wheel,
My right hand on the gear shift,
The radio playing an old country song,
My hair blowing around,
And getting pelted
By tiny raindrops
From the window I’d cracked
To let the smoke escape.
I was keeping my eyes peeled
For headlights
Coming from the opposite direction
So I could turn off the brights
I was using
To ward off
Any deer.
It smelled like damp earth,
But clean,
In a way
Only Carolina air does-
And made smoother
By the water
As if it had all melted together,
Like the rain was sent
To benefit the air
And turn all the swirling mini-universes:
The farmers picking,
The bugs flying,
The cows grazing,
And my car whizzing by-
Into one.
And for three to twelve seconds
I realized
That this would never happen again,
Not this way,
And I was alone
To appreciate the beauty
Of this moment
As I took a drag
And exhaled the white smoke
Into the past.
