The Day After I Turned 71

I can't hold on to things securely. They drop to the floor at unexpected moments. I am walking to the door that leads to another room, and I'm holding the book I want to read in that adjacent room. I want things to go as planned. But the book slips out of my hand and lands on the floor. It's pretty much out of reach. What should I do? This is the moment when experience breaks into possibilities. I keep walking, although I'm empty- handed. I cross the threshold and open the door: I have arrived at my goal, but bereft of my purpose. In this second room I had hoped to find something wondrous. No book lay on the floor, no readers maintained silence in their concentration... Backwards I go to that point of possibilities, reversing my threshold crossing. It's simple enough: I bend over and grasp the book I thought was done. The book and I seek oneness, then we are one, or so it seems. And seeming itself is a kind of reality.