Gone In a Flash

Life moves at an unthinkable speed.

Tomorrow, we bring Bekki home from the vet.
Our home — just us three for seven years — will be four.
Tonight is the last night it’s only Wallie and us.

There’s a hollow in my stomach.

I tell myself to meet it with curiosity.
To see the possibilities, not the loss.
Not the longing for what we leave behind.
Say goodbye to the page. Turn to the next.

But here’s the truth: We are not the same as yesterday.
Wallie is not the same dog.
The river, the ocean, the trees — different.
Even the sun and moon have shifted.
Nothing holds.

Each second dies as it arrives.
So why cling? To what?
Why now, and not two seconds ago?

Anicca. Anicca. Sabbe saṅkhārā anicca.
All things are impermanent.

And with that, the sadness lifts.
What’s left is contentment.
Gratitude for the dhamma.