Life on the Edge

The dark curtain of squall moves steadily towards me.

The winter sun is low; moving to set. It casts a final warming light onto a green, seductive sea.

Standing here now is to stand in a moment of grace even while knowing all will abruptly end.

Looking south past Wedge island, through the line of obscuring rain, is a vast wild empty plain of open water.

All the way to the Antarctic, they say. Some 3000 kilometres.

Standing here now is to stand in a moment of time.

To be alive in this very moment. How precious.

In twenty years (or perhaps tonight in my sleep), when the final, dark curtain falls, will I awaken on the other side of anything? 

I take a deep breath and give thanks for this moment of pure earthly bliss.

Living life at the edge calls me to be present. Demands of me to be present.

I take a second breath. Then turn my back on the approaching dark and walk towards the remaining light.