The difference between the pursuit of the hobbyist
and the call of the professional is a wild distance
not unlike the length a crow flies,
or geese when they are going South for the Winter.
It is no small step, no curb jump.
It is no distance between the car door when it is opened or closed,
not a short distance like the edge of the coffee cup to your mouth
as you take a morning sip.
No, the distance is much greater.
It's the distance of the clouds as they spill across the sky across the lake
seeming to go on forever, stretching their bones
in their hands
fingers tingling toward the horizon.
If I don't make it, and you put a coin in my mouth
when I am buried low, so be it.
When the cold stone sits above my head
I will at least have known
that it was no short distance from here to there.