Luna wx 50%v
Watching the Sun melt into the Sea on that high cliff, all alone with my dear one.
The flower and salt scents and the vivid green -green, the first color the eye is physically capable of seeing and the last to fade in dim light- blazed uncannily luminescent for a while longer after the sun disappeared. Lingering as if by its own light for a short time. The cool mist and dripping forest against the grayness of the day made bluer by the last bit of red-orange Sun. Cold wet rocks, moss, shed feathers on the trail. Only birds and moving leaves and surf for sound.
Right there in that small span of time that semed to unravel itsefl into ages (& held precious for it’s brevity upon our return to the clock), as in other similar times a deep something leaps up and declares that there is no other place to be. That here is the edge of the World, the edge you travel to in order to converse with what lives beyond, to get yourself a little stretched. The place you of necessity separate yourself from others to seek out and be alone with. In order to slow down to be able to hear a fragment of the Word of a mountain, a river, the sea. A Word that has been being said for a hundred million years or more, and will continue being pronounced for a hundred million to come.
The opportunity for this is constantly available. It fortifies against despair and rekindles your lamp.
Seek it out, it won’t disappoint.