Temperatures coming down as the back of my neck is uncustomarily dry in the path of the afternoon sun. Greens are dampened but the blues of the sky above are so bright as if they punch me. Awe, Stricken any remorse forgotten as the valley below reveals the darkened pools of cool water awaiting the afternoon showers. Hard to imagine that this life is just the practice round, that we can barely envisage the size and shape of awaiting miracles.

How many moons tolerated my gaze? How many times tracing the craters and ridges they now say are simply our imagination? What shadow shakes us from the dream we all thought real? What questions remain in the back of minds that have been somehow manipulated in thought for a lifetime? It is always a joy when I see that I thought myself further on the journey to a lifetime of maturity. Hopefully arriving at a plateau where thoughts are certain and life somehow shared some of its secrets with me before passing bye.

Throwing caution and care overboard we cannonball over the gunwale crashing into the waves beyond, somehow fearless breaking the pall of paralysis trapping the inner child. What dreams have we forgotten? What pressures have we born that were never meant for our packing? Alive in the world that God made for us, hard to comprehend how my shallow path in this roadway will bring great glory to His Name. The things I have pondered that never needed a bit of attention remind that it is so easy to lose sight of the proper investment.

The bright orange of morning strikes me in a moment’s pause. The Earth seems ready to bust loose from its temporary orbit and take off for the outer reaches, to galaxies unknown. How simple my reflections, how basic my understanding, how meager my resolve. Waiting on ideas that resemble something worthy of God’s making. It is not the lack of capacity to say or do the impressive, but hoping someday to see His image in my own. That kinship is so far beyond the approach of marching footfall. It seems so close yet further than the light side of darkness.

I taste the air to determine which was the smoke is rising. No gray fog, but misty whispers of cloud fingers tapping each of us upon the arm and cheek. The wind it captures sunlight throwing strikes of lightning through each passing molecule of water. I blink as if time could be forgotten, remembering simpler days and nights where no child felt he could ever be alone. Something stops my breathe briefly, not struggling to hold it tightly in my chest. At best I had become a man laden with false sense of power and security. At worst a man missing all that really ever mattered as I chased the shiny bugs.