Watching the waves, out beyond the ragged rocks, splashing against the seaward side; where the sun sets low. Whitewater, sheets of crystals floating, skyward, dissipating into the air; then falling lifeless to the water below, rolling stately to the shore.
Seafaring kayakers, pushing their crafts to the waters edge, their paddles in hand; on their way to commune with nature. Memories of Monterey, the dancing kelp beds, divers for oysters, the artist on the beach, painting the poets words, writers having Steinbeck moments of creativity.
Memories amble through my mind like the tide, as if controlled by the sun and the moon, an eclipse of places seen; and places unseen. 2009, another step in our journey together, God’s grand plan, the healing, the peace begins; you’re home before me.
The city by the bay, the coastal Giants, Alpine meadows, the clear mountain lakes, the solitude of the rugged northern coast to the populated southern coast. We have seen so much, the traveling breaths we took, with still so much to see together; you me . . . We.
The Pinnacles, Mono lake, surrealism in real time, nature reaching upward from the Sierras to the valley floor. The depths of the Grand Canyon, the Colorado weaves its needle and thread through the raw brown cliffs of ancient historic inspiration; silent loitering sounds of the First Nations calling. The Snake River canyon, lay under the stars at night, absorbing Chief Joseph’s peaceful presence, I will fight no more forever, the peacefully loving father; the Grand and Stately Leader. Old Faithful, the Bison, the pools of mud and steam. Yosemite, Half Dome, forest creeks and streams. The Trinity, bears, cougar, deer and muskrat. The Painted Desert, horizontal stripes of reds, browns and tans. The dunes of Florence, take a dune buggy from end to end, spend the night and watch the sunset, no one for miles from the north to the south. From the snows of Maine, to the Battle Fields of the south. From the Bad Lands of the Dakotas, to the Texas Panhandle, there is so much to see.
Time doesn’t always work the way every man and woman wishes it to, “You always have a cushion to fall back on when there’s time.” John Zacary Spencer. But when time dwindles, when it escapes our grasp like trying so diligently to hold onto the air that we breathe, we open our hands and they are empty.
The love we share, the ties that bind, anyone in love knows they have meaning that enter the soul. Not to be taken as made for television folly, but rather honest human feelings, feelings worth protecting and nurturing with eternal dreams and Faith of Heavenly Promises.
Togetherness the portrait before us, painted by our love, Grace controls each and every stroke of life’s brush; from life’s stormy sea to life’s mountain meadow, loves Grace gives us strength and courage to endure till Heavens Gate stands before us.
So on that day, I may awaken strained and gaunt, or I may stumble from my bed to the floor in the morning sun, like Uncle Horsefly and take your hand once more in grand togetherness.
What a blessing to fly over all the unseen with you, to see what we never got the chance to see, to do what we never got the chance to do, to fly through this land, unseen by mortal eyes, unheard by mortal ears, where no mortal touch can seize our journey home.
The mortal mind, weak and spindly as it is, grasping the misgivings of self, always searching for change and transparency; while forsaking God’s gift of love. Such wasted time, such fodder be, that changes our lives from hope to depression, as we do the man’s bidding while forsaking the love that waits at home.
The goals on this day misplaced, one day they will all be material trinkets gladly left behind; if love is the goal, the riches of life will be taken to eternity. “As if you could kill time without injuring eternity.” -Henry David Thoreau. Togetherness the key to the cottage, love is the home, our souls the sheltering roof, our Faith the timbers and foundation.