Shackleford Point - February
In the blue light before dawn the pine needles shiver in the sub freezing air. The north wind causes the trees to sashay in circles while the remnants of last night's fire permeate the air. The animals that are awake at this hour move silently under the trees, their footfalls covered by the wind tossed forest. Deer, quietly nibbling tender branchlets, the fox blinking at the slow light in the East, swift motion beneath the feet of the trees betray the scurry of the chipmunk.
Time stands still as the entire world pauses on the cusp of a new dawn. Fresh breezes blow away the detritus of the previous night, causing fresh insight into the days ahead. For a moment I am young, and old, simultaneously. The juxtaposition is momentarily unnerving, then accepted as the Moment Itself. A Relationship as large as all outdoors kindles the last tendrils of sleep, and unifies all that stood in disarray.
I turn to the North, inhaling the keen breeze, letting it revivify every cell in my body. Singing and tingling with new life, filled with clarified purpose I return to the campfire to make coffee.
Sent from my mobile phone.
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