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Waking Up

Holding hands in the dark, the wash of moonlight spilling onto the sheets. A kiss on my cheek and a hug that lingers long enough to feel the solid warmth of skin and bone. The breath of a sunset sky, and the heat of thunder and lightning pouring cleansing waters from above. A singular burgundy leaf, skidding on the cement. The light in the hallway at four am, illuminating words from heart to pen to paper, and the folded corners and frayed pages of a faithful book always on your nightstand. The poems that whisper your name before blooming into song and the sound of footsteps running on gravel. These are so many tiny moments, where person meets time meets place. Where I meet you. A fated intersection that contain infinite beginnings and endings and also everything that is true right here and right now. And so, we are called to wake up not just to the immense joys and catastrophes but to everything in between. For in those spaces, in those pauses between inhale and exhale, we find all of life pulsing and waiting to be found. If we turn quiet, still, then perhaps we can become the small moments. And if we are lucky, allow them to become us.


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