Thursday, 5 May 2011

the sun sets, the sea laps the shore

Tonight Arnold and I walked along the beach, then watched the sun set---and in that moment, on a slanted rock and in a chilled breeze, I asked over and over again to please, not let this end. And I didn't mean the sun---no, not the way it hid its upper lip of fuchsia and ochre and bronze---I meant everything: the unity, the simplicity and the absolute assurance. Because in lives so often swathed in uncertainty (and I do not mean that melodramatically---we all, after all, are uncertain about something)---tonight was what I needed---what I craved---what I hungered for.* Because tonight, in conversations on living and believing and seeing, there was absolute contentment. But more than that? Conviction---conviction in the choices we had made and the people we were---and are---becoming. And for a second, too, all tangible worry---worry about those dreams I pile up and those hopes I place on us---faded, under the shadow of a fading sun and on the scurf of an ebbing tide.

Tonight was a night to be grateful for---then to remember, over and over again.

(And no, I can't lie. Posting things like this makes me a little uncomfortable---because these things, things made up of such heart, I do not want to jinx. Because no, I never, ever want this---us---to end).

*Laura (one half of Someday Hopes---the blog I so often praise in my I'd Like To, Please posts) is one very wise lady. Please check out her post today---it is insightful and it is inspiring and it, most of all, is honest. We all need a little more of that---a little more of those calls to wake us up. And boy, was my evening---and then that post---just that.

1 comment:

  1. I think I can officially be considered a blogstalker right now (4 comments on 4 different posts in an hour?) - but this post is beautiful. And inspiring. And I remember all those little moments I've had that I've hoped would never end...there is such hope, and peace, in finding a moment and that you would like to live in forever. Those are the things you remember.