count the moments that make up a life.
Now, now, now it ticks, illuminating here and casting dim what lay just before and just ahead
It is almost painful to allow these moments their certain march into the haze of has been
but it is more painful to hold on, burying head in the shadows where the gold no longer shines. There is always more beauty waiting to alight itself
and it waits for me
to stop anxiously holding to the ever deepening shadows of past
so that I may turn my gaze toward golden now.
The breath always catches, I never expect life to keep delivering like a promise unending but it does, faithfully and surely as that sun riding its invisible line through the sky, counting time for us with its march,
the days and nights
minutes and hours.
Why do I not know by now? That there can be no growing smaller, no going back and the dream to stop growing is the only true death.
Love is free, it does not cling, to moments or people or things. It asks only that it may gaze upon the loveliness of this hour, where sun shines gold upon little curls
and the heart ignites into what it is and always was, love all aflame.