Today I sit facing the meadow newly mown. The cedar trees that once were small are skyward tall. If you lie on your back, the loblolly tops merge with heaven. Shadows long, spreading east, mirror the cedars, joined at the trunk as shadows do. To the left, within my reach, a grove of beech, smooth and white.
I look through branches hanging low while the sun is still high but moving west. Soon there will be colors in the sky on such a cloudless day. There's almost no sound, no geese (not yet) nor train. A quiet time with only the distant breath of traffic. Later the deer will step out of the woods. They will not like the meadow shorn.
It's the season of golden pine straw, leaves still green and dark, mornings too. I wake to crescent moon and candles, damp air, tea, alone but for the dog. Time to pray.
We all have places like this, mostly outdoors but sometimes by a window. Where the view stretches and we see things that give us pleasure, hear sounds that wake our senses, find space for our thoughts.
The days are long, just as I wanted. As time grows short, long days are good. Never again will I wish a day to quickly pass. Hurt maybe, or disappointment, but not the whole day. So many never-agains. Today is never yesterday. Today is always now.
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