Ask the Question

Wildflower meadows combed the walls of the valley, flowing to meet the meandering river below. No trail marked my passage, no bent green blade, fallen leaf, or barked limb. Birds toiled their world, feeding fledglings, mending nests, bathing in dusty earth. If they noticed my presence, I did not influence them.

At water’s edge, toads and distantly, bullfrogs chirped and grunted speaking language unknown by me but somehow as haunting as a quiet primal flute whistling the lamentations of youth bygone. Dragonflies wove wings of crystal sunshine spiraling to seek their destinies.

Higher on the valley wall, berries sprayed the thorny ridge of its backbone. Their red blue vitality evident between my fingers, staining today with yesterday’s promise.

I wandered over and through my temptation, stopping, sampling, hoping to learn more, knowing the lesson past, that time taught all.

Higher still, oak and maple boughs bore the rewards of summer’s fullness, shading, nurturing, providing. Scurrying among them, life raced along unaware of passage, unaware of endings, or the promise of new beginnings.

I knew I would do well to heed those lessons. Even when turning in confusion’s circle, I move in but one direction. I may see all around me, but miss what is vital. Unless I focus to ask the question, I most desire to know.

Through mourning, I celebrate life, as songbirds voice afternoon’s glory, and the dove the break of dawn

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