the light in june
(a prose poem)
When the light is longest in the later days of June, you can feel the reach of the year toward its sunlit peak. It is as known to you as the satisfying ache of your arms as you stretch toward the sky. There is a vitality present in every thing. You can read eternity in the veins of the unfurled leaves and hear the whole story of existence in the flowing river.
But we belong to circular time. Even now, as I write, the sun is setting. And I know it will rise in the morning, just as I know that in six months' time all of this will be frozen and still. It is unfathomable now, but inevitable. Earth stands on her crooked axis and makes possible this season of movement, which will give way to the days of long shadows. This, now, is the height from which we are about to fall. Let go. Just...let go.