The moment was magic, then it slipped away

A lightning strike, that faded into gray

It was a pulse beat, hard and wild

That slipped through our fingers

Like youth’s lost child

To get back that feeling

Can it ever be the same

Just like a junkie

Trying to find that first vein

Scrambling to hold on

To the steepening slope

Of time’s own force

Against memory’s hope

We’re washing away

While our sandcastle of dreams

Crumbles and falls

Into wave after wave

Of the weight of it all

Time held our hand

For a frozen moment

As we danced to the band

Of simple content

Just us and the sky

And the warm summer wind

How can we ever

Find that again

It’s amazing here. The way the light filters through the moss-laden branches that droop towards the swirling whitewater river. Birds chirp and play in the boughs of a mimosa tree that stretches over the water like a giant condor’s wing frozen in mid-soar.

The boulders in the water are timeless sentinels of eons gone by. But the rushing river grinds slowly, patiently away at them, knowing eventually it will be the victor in their millennias-old standoff.

Lichen and small fern sit atop the rock sentries, unconcerned about the struggle beneath them. In their lifespan it has no relevance. The little birds flit between the trees and rocks like flickering particles in the waning light.

As the sun fades behind the western ridge, the birds start to chirp and sing the day’s closing. The water, flowing endlessly, will continue even when I’m gone. All this will continue, whether I am here to see it or not.

It’s time to go now. I wish I could stay for hours, or the night, or maybe forever, and bask in the eternal solitude.