Something is going to happen. That’s the title of a poem by Robert Penn Warren. About a lifetime ago, I performed that poem for schoolkids all up and down the eastern seaboarad … over and over and over … cafetoriums and multi-purpose rooms and gymnasiums. … Something is bound to happen on a day like today, so the poem goes.
I feel like that sometimes. Like I’m on the verge of something. Like something’s up ahead, just around the bend. Like something is going to happen. The poem reminds us that our lives are full of happenings, many of them quite small or quite subtle. But that’s not what I’m talking about. The thing I’m sensing, or anticipating, isn’t small or subtle.