I awakened again on this hillside, remembering.
Easier to find one’s way in a huddled valley. Today
eastern light splashes a sleepy landscape with color
through a leaky roof of low-clouded sky.
Its heavy fingers dripping down, mirroring
naked oak branches reaching heavenward.
Ceanothus lift above the meadow like waves
cresting over the Gulf of Memories,
marking the wind’s path through time.
The anticipation of coyote crossing energizes
scrub jays darting haphazardly from the brush
as a swarm of sparrows dot the sky
like puzzle pieces seeking their place.
The exchanges are so full here,
in the quiet of recognition,
and I wonder how to measure the value
of standing in my field, the one I know.
How to fathom the sum of all that gathers here?
An equation greater than what can be recalled.
But still, I fear, not enough to carry away
with me to a new place too thin to imagine.
How long will I hold this portrait
of sunrise easing over our mountain?
What new moments will remind of this one
in my uncertain future?
Today is the tahara, the ritual cleansing.
We mop and sweep in silence, our thoughts
consumed with memories and questions.
Memories of what we will learn to mourn and cherish.
Questions of what we move towards, still shapeless.
The time to rejoice in new things is surely coming
amidst plans to discover our new place to call home.
Today lives in the sacred space between. In this moment
reserved for reflection, gratitude, sadness, stillness,
I set aside my required tasks and pause
to recognize the sustaining practice of remembrance.
