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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.
Copyright ©
Roxanne Andorfer
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