BitterSweetLife

Cottonwoods wave, wind streams,
world turns with no lever,
clouds slide on sunbeams,
today I could live forever.

::

There are times and moments when to live is pastime enough. The texture of existence, the “act” of being, makes us rapt and still. The assertive, positive side of Hamlet’s famous query takes our hearts by storm as we think, but more, feel—I am, I am.

In a perfect world, the business of living would account fully for every waking moment. We could sit on a hillside for a dozen years without looking for a better endeavor. Perhaps we will.

The moments when we fancy we need endless time to spend simply living, when we wish life could lengthen endlessly, hint at the ecstasy of life in a new earth. A land where simply “To be” answers every previous question.

And more, to act? The proportionate joy of perfect exertion, of flawless adventure, cannot even be imagined.