There’s a fire in the distance, to the east. It could be someone burning. Burning in the countryside, the woodpile you’ve watched for months, finally the time arrives. Arrange the kindling, gather some leaves, light the fire, watch it burn. Tend to it, until there’s nothing left to tend. Dead and blackened like night. Cold and stark. Like life feels when we fail to seize it; to savor the seconds. They will not come again. There is never that last second back. Time only marches forward…unyielding, unending. Always fleeting, moving toward or away from us eternally.
The present moment eludes us, this very second in which we exist in perfect unison with time, our life aligned with time. The very moment in which we are living. Pinks of the fading sunset reflecting off the lake. Gentle contrast to the muted blues of a softening sky. Trees devoid of leaves. Evergreens turning black in the dusk. This, the passage of time; this, which must be seized.
Krista S. Schumacher 