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The spine of tomorrow will bend – nature is supple with surprise, and the ebb and turn of your fortunes the illusions, the truths that mingle in some elemental, immaculate mystery casting yesterday’s sere shadows into a fiery renewal – these things wander before us this night. The closest lake is where vows are exchanged upon the wind’s ruffled music. I was married there, and the shore rang, the grasses and trees discovered our dance, and all the malism in our slippery world evaporated. Yet, rains do fall, thank God, and rivers and lakes, and each whelming sea, depend for their very lives upon the darkness that each night is such a perfect metaphor for. In the lifelong ascent from earth, through sky, to sacredness, we sometimes pause, sometimes the letters our breath writes are eased from us – these are exactly the tragedies of our being we are woven from. In each thing, a bridge. On each side, the way to the other. |
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