A walk through the trees along the river at first light carries the possibility of a restored clarity. Perhaps like the simplicity of standing before a judge and receiving a death sentence:
“On this day, at dawn,
you shall be hanged by the neck
until you are dead.”
Or as Bruce Cockburn’s lyrics put it ~
‘You can die on your sofa
safe inside your home
or die in a mess of flame and shrapnel
we all in our time go’
A knowledge that ought to produce gratitude for another day, one would think. Though on most, I confess, it does not shake me free from the ephemeral disquiet swirling around inside of me.
Today,
for a few rarified moments,
it did…
zjm
