It is there, in every blink of every eye,
In the quiet between every beat of every heart,
In the day-long time between dawns and underneath all the galaxies and all creation.
We step fully into the merge between God’s green earth and all the glorious heavens above.
We trudge through the fields and the stubble and the chaff of life and stand there, and amid the dull and the gray and the muted sun we cleave open our soul and pour into it this very moment.
We arrive at the junction of the past and the present and soak in a mere fraction of existence.
It rises through the soles of muddied boots.
It is the testament in our muddied hands.
It is the chill wind across our face, biting, tearing our eyes as we face into it, drawing the essence of a harvest past deep within our chest, holding it there.
We become one with the moment.
And in that breath, nothing else matters.
We stand on the very edge, a ragged and dirtied form standing to in the ragged and dirty light of a dying day, knowing full well that it will end in the next blink of an eye, and there are no promises.
Yet, still, we stand to, steeped within the here and the now, to gaze back upon the ‘there was’---
Ghosts hidden in the shadows and clouds of a whole other life that had to be lived before we became worthy to live this one.
It is a moment that we refuse to exhale, so to live it just a little longer among the relics of the past and the destinies yet realized.
Next moments---
Next breaths are a lifetime away.
There is only the beauty of this very instant.
It seeks us.
And we offer ourselves to it---
No matter where the mud.