Life on the Edge

Late this afternoon, near the center of a large circular native grass sanctuary, I lay down on the warmed earth. The ground was soft with moistness, but not damp; the grass no taller than a golf green. The autumn sun was pushing out gold. I lay on my back and looked up into a blueness where angels must surely live and where painters could only hope to live. “Oh, my god,” I said. “Oh, my god.” ************** How many more days in the years that I have left will I be graced to bear witness to such wonder? More importantly, though, how many of these days will I allow myself to lay down and look up? I don’t want to squander a moment. I want to savour each golden ribbon caressing each black cloud. I want love to ooze over me.