Something in the middle

Sort of feel like an interminably lonely creature, an anonymous daughter, a little fragmented womanhood. Like transparent petals, or brittle grasses, or stones that lose brilliance out of water. Wandering from beauty pool to beauty pool, existing by the grace of evening sunlight, or kind orange cat, or out-bursting thunder shower. On the tips of living, maybe dabbling the toes in the icy art of being, shimmeringly shy and hardly relaxing, save to write a line or more. Passing clouds take all day to arrange themselves accordingly for their sundown repose, and in the fleeting beauty give such thanks for their existence that escape me as yet. They don’t seem to mind the day-long stretch to beauty, or the tediousness of tree, rock, Sun, land, night. Pieces of indomitable humility, the little vessels who empty themselves, and are graciously replenished day after day.

The walnuts always seem to give way first, relinquishing yellow leaves in forewarning of the Fall that awaits us. In little bits, in our own manner, we too give way to what seems inevitable, be it for joy or sorrow, and thus temper the oaken side of our humanity, which never releases hold until the very foundations of an existence break down. Don’t give up too soon, in a quixotic defense which strives to sacrifice what is most readily available to defend the tender inner reaches of spirit. Don’t hold on too long, in some effort to be proven right through out-lasting, in some misunderstanding of real strength. Little Queen Anne’s Lace bedecking the humblest places, tell us your story of working dichotomy: how delicate, multi-faceted, and ethereal are your blossoms reaching toward the light, and how humble, rugged, and nourishing the knotty primeval carrot that roots you in the Earth.

Up, down, East, West, water, fire, strong, flexible, and something in the middle, something yet beyond all cardinal directions, something in the third dimension, something outside of the meandering path we wander, something that inevitably guides the way, because it is the way, because it is the Light. My little self, nodding in the breezes of this Earth like ripened Elderberries, ready to give of what I have, and yet so small in the greatness of the universe. May I be just as I am, ever nobler, ever more dutifully fulfilling the little niche I have to offer, ever more gracefully singing in the little space alloted to me.