That One Evening

Hot coals from a fire long gone are good company and comfort for cold feet. Toes dig into the warm sand-ash mixture. Tired legs stretch out in rest. Arms are folded across torso as a simple, lazy sort of armor against a mild wind. Head is tilted back in star-gazing posture.  Slow, even breaths coming from nearby tents serve as a gentle reminder, promptly ignored, that sleep may well be overdue. Surrounded by a darkness only possible far from man-made light, one would be willing to suffer the weary morning consequences just to gaze in wonder a while longer at the infinite ceiling above and its multitude of seemingly tiny lights hanging in space. Whispers are in order on such gentle, peaceful nights as these or, almost preferably, silence.

Silence to take in the quiet mystery of the multitudes overhead, not shrouded by cloud or storm. Silence to listen to their symphony of light, boldly proclaiming their presence.  Silence to think backwards and forwards, to wonder and question, and finally, settle into now. To be engulfed in something, someone, so great and so vast and in doing so to become smaller and smaller, more and more insignificant until finally- contentment… peace… rest. Comfort in the smallness. Silence. 

Silence to shed the heavy weight of living by realizing how miniscule, how trivial it is in comparison. 
Breathing the infinite into the smallness… a sleepy, bubbling sensation of joy at the thought:
Infinite, tender, furious glory is wed, not only now, in this moment, but forever, to dusty, worrisome smallness.

Why? Why such reckless, wild abandon for a mere speck?



02/10/16

Comments

  1. AmelMagOctober 2, 2018 at 10:29 AM

    Ah, Anna-Lena. You are still such a poet. Such a glorious weaver of words. Your images sing and pierce and move the heart. Keep writing. 🙂

    ReplyDelete
    Replies
    1. A Drop of InkOctober 30, 2018 at 11:59 AM

      Aww man, thank you! Your seventh grade reading and writing workshop had a lot to do with that!

      Delete

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