Once and Again

We stood in the cold night rain at the edge of the world on a bluff above the river, and everything— every thing— was alive with light. Rain braided my hair into the leafless branches, threaded the earth through my feet— and I felt it then— the current humming in the roots of Creation. And many years later— halfway out of the canyon, skin salt-crusted— lungs burning— knee screaming— I saw it again. No rain this time, just night heat and the stone path rising— but under the ache of each step the same invisible light threaded me back into the vastness. I have carried that light— not always seeing it, but feeling its hum beneath the noise of living— a silent promise that nothing beautiful is ever truly lost.