This Moment.

And I woke up this morning to a world full of promise. A sky filled with hope for the sun yet to arrive to kiss the earth that is still asleep covered with the blanket of slumber held by winters magic.

The light grows upon my eyes and I am always in captivation of what is to come for I can never be sure of the unfolding.

Should the clouds stay and tantalize me with a promise or will they wisp away and allow forth the glimmer of warmth that will rain forth through my windows and sooth the chill still resting on my tired body?

It is never promised, this day that caresses us. Though we would like to believe the morning comes for we have willed it to, the truth is it simply arrives whether we wish it or not.

The birds sing, melodious and sweet.

The sleeping branches sway their winter song.

All creatures bound by this existence continue each morning, each night as it has always been regardless of my current state of ambiguousness. Each moment in perpetual motion set forth by a hand we can only imagine to be there.

Yes, onward it comes and I reminded of my minuscule matter in this tidal wave of life. No more than the drop of water careening down the side of my cup pulled by a force I can not see, but propels me just the same.

Perhaps this is all imagination, fooling myself that I can direct the course my feet should travel. Maybe the destination is no more than words put together to ease my discomfort during times of melancholy. Time no more real than the imaginations of crazy thought bought by those still in their dormancy and willingly scuffed off to those too fraught with confusion to do anything more than follow.

It matters not. The morning will come on a chariot sending forth hues of pink and powdered blue to set the stage, an asseveration of a night that will step aside and ring on the golden disc that is our sun.

Morning, it seems, can not be restrained. Some will greet it dancing, rested on toes bursting with anticipation of a song yet to be heard. Poised for a choreography not yet written, but filled with curiosity and excitement, while others will offer no more recognition to it’s statement than that of their discarded thoughts.

And I?

The birds have awakened from their slumber, nattering on about things I can only imagine. The sky has opened and the sun smiles on all that my eyes can feast and beyond. Nothing is certain, and yet, though in the distance there are clouds willing to obscure the light now billowing onto my face, I feel content. Content for now to simply witness the nondiscrimination that the winter capped mountains hold as their faces glow with plumes of pink, orange and gold to hold there until at last their frozen tops lends way to white.

Relaxed to know that regardless of their seeming frivolity flitting about the landscape of prairie and tree, the birds will continue to sing a song I may never understand, but my heart cherishes it just the same.

Peace. Peace to know that this moment is unlike any moment preceding it, or that will come again. Knowing that in this moment I have captured it as a picture, imprinted on the pages of my soul and that each moment proceeding has the purview to extend to such heights and impermanent nature as this one.

One Earth.