Life Is Not Hurrying

Our hike is over by the small light of early morning.
Mist has slept low in the fields and hazed the hills afar.
You and I still with our breaths, rosy cheeked, happy.
I think of how we are just two humans,
two animals, creatures, who wrapped ourselves in clothes
for warmth, tightly strapped boots to our feet
because we felt some need, some drive, to ascend
and see a sunrise. The talk and talk to do it, days and weeks,
and how easy it was, simplistic, to incline this tor,
even on a night of minimal sleep, on a portion
of oats and milk. We perch on a lump of stone, like birds.
Our course below, faint, a line of mud footpath
weaving the landscape where hundreds of others
have walked and written the earth in route.

It’s evident now, truly now, that we are,
temporarily, occupying a planet, some rock in space
and time, one so old and aged and parental.
The terrain soft and sturdy together, the rain light
and refreshing, the wind gentle and tender.

We witness the sunrise, our view for miles.
The blaze of sun ignites the land and with it, things become.


*a tor is a high hill, often craggy, rocky

The title is taken from R.S. Thomas’ poem Bright Field, which inspired this piece. In the grand scheme of things, the growth of mountains, the evolution of species, life is short. Seventy odd years against, an estimated, 13.8 billion for the universe. But to us, to anything living, it’s the longest thing we ever do. Some minutes, moments, I have taken for granted, but I always try to make the most of now. To listen, to taste, to feel, to see with complete acceptance and awareness of worth and value. Earth, this lush rock of green and blue, married in calmness and calamity, is beautiful. What a pleasure!

 

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