Nature’s a funny thing. It comes and goes, leaving behind nothing in the wake of each season, and it stretches infinitely, from where I sit now, to where the sun is on the horizon. To me its melancholy, with so much beauty, so many offerings, and such numerous truths; more than we could ever count. But even knowing this, as we lay here quietly together, we try, constructing our realities from what the ocean extends to us, what the stars hand down to us, and what the sands speak to us. Its just getting dark, the time of day when one second you look and the sun is balanced on the waters edge, and the next it has disappeared. And the stars are just coming out, with the moon rising to replace the sun, and the sand is still warm. So we lay for a while on the shore in the silence. And even with all the noise, the water on the sand and the gulls, the breeze, nature settles a silence that wraps us and takes us else where –out on the ocean, to the lighthouse or the ferry miles away. To the edge where the sea swallows the sky, or up high to the clouds where we can look back down.
Earlier I had walked through the grass in the back yard, and along the trails in the woods, along the city streets, and the mountain tops, and it was everywhere –that blink and you’ll miss it nature. And where I could, I’ve lain down, or sat down, and walked across the fields, or on the ocean, or to the clouds and tried to count the truths that setting gave me. Its not the complexity of the realities that we create that create us, but instead what we take from around us, and make our own. I suppose that’s what I think, but here it’s hard to think at all.
Its dark now, like I said before, its that time of day. And the stars are all the way out and shinning, and it’s not just us looking at them but everybody else too.