Emily

Emily Dickinson wrote a poem titled Because I Could Not Stop For Death. These are the first two quatrains:

Because I could not stop for Death,
He kindly stopped for me;
The carriage held but just ourselves
And Immortality.

We slowly drove, he knew no haste,
And I had put away
My labour, and my leisure too,
For his civility.

I wonder, Dear Emily, what you would think of us now? There is no time for just about anything. Everything we do is in haste and still there is no time. Rush. Rush. Rush. Hurry up and Wait (for the inevitable line at the DMV). Hurry. Hurry.

Are we forever White Rabbits in a feverish rush? Will I, too, succumb to time only through death?