At The Precipice. . .
I stand
at the precipice
of the world, wobbly
but still standing,
with ancient years yielding
to an Essence I refer to
as the Great God.
Who is it, I wonder
with arms ready to receive me?
Small and insignificant
in this Earth place
dressed in my humanity?
How is it to be
I wonder, when I take
that step putting me in a world
I claimed into being?
Carved out of the Earth’s heart
and mine, through a lifetime
counting still. . . .
Better to be unaware, I think,
than to know how else
to manage a life
and leaving with few regrets.
Splitting infinity at this late date
means I never left
the old country.
(click on photo to zoom in)
2 responses to “AT The Precipice. . . .”
If my journey takes me past this cabin when it’s surrounded by a foot of snow,
I’ll stay a while and let the magic fill each day. The precipice, not far, is still beyond my horizon.
— Beautiful art and thought provoking musing. Thanks for sharing.
John, it is magic that fills the day. Thank you for your comments.