Hap

A lost transcript was the beginning
of a life-altering event when I hoped to go
to the University of Oregon.
I enrolled instead at a smaller school in Idaho.
Little did I know this course correction
would mean so much.

I took a summer job at Sun Valley.
As a lowly kitchen worker,
I was quite sure my floating world
would persist, but then, there she was,
traveling through as a guest.
Sixty-three years have passed
since we met at the Lodge.

Who knows which moment is meant to last?
Who knows! From the vantage point of age,
I could be looking back with ruefulness
at a listless river in a barren landscape
or a hellscape of conflict
or a life of emptiness like the wave-polished shell
abandoned by the creature who used to dwell—
or enjoy a different contentment with someone else.

Devil-may-care at the time of first action,
my initial moves belong
to a thousand-piece puzzle near completion.
We make informed decisions, but life is long.
For happiness, there is no map,
and often it is simply the result of hap.