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but a moment
I stood …
on a mountain
not nearly the highest
but the air was clean … seraphic
cold, but not bone-chilling
keen, that it restore the marrow
and course the blood more acutely
it sharpened my senses
and I listened for The Voice …
the wind’s whisper changes, you see
the higher you climb
there was only evergreen where I stood -
young, stunted by the harsher bounds
thin, stiff needles splitting the air
into higher-pitched phrases
(not leafy flutters)
as if paying for the privilege with their strength …
and their dance - easy, hypnotic -
like the hips of a Shirabyoshi
swaying to wooden flutes
but theirs, a divine performance
meant for heaven alone
I, but a lucky voyeur …
how many numberless moments
have passed as such,
sacred instances of indescribable beauty
that the sky, alone, gives witness to?
we humans are placed here to appreciate,
and yet a billion such winks of
elegance transpire every second
that no eye ever sees
and they happen anyway …
does that not make them even more valuable?
those brief moments -
standing on a peak
or awaiting a desert’s dawn …
a butter moon dancing a-sea
or cold rain on the face …
the kiss of the sun on your skin
or the smile of a loved-one’s joyous affection …
they are miracles, ALL
miracles we have been created to give worth to
and yet most of them are wasted …
most are lost to indifference
and given to time spent hoping for things
that never come …
I am not worthy of such loveliness
yet it was placed at my feet all the same
and perhaps …
perhaps just the realization of this
MAKES me worthy
perhaps appreciation is its own payment
and my standing on that mountain
at that particular time
in that particular state-of-mind
wasn’t coincidence …
perhaps I wasn’t a voyeur at all
but rather the object
of a very simple …
singularly extraordinary …
blessing.
Copyright © Gregory Richard Barden, April 24, 2024
Copyright ©
Gregory Richard Barden
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