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If I Had One Day Left To Live

If I had only one day left to live I’d probably take a quiet walk in the woods below the snow and timberlines. I’d follow an old path along a living creek as it made its way over rich earth, across ancient ground, through granite rock, spilling softly out into a generous meadow; a missing piece of heaven, standing still, glistening in the early morning sun. I’d watch the light dancing on wet green moss, young blades of grass, and the new growth branches on young pine trees lining the edge of the field. I’d walk on those little fallen pinecones that congregate beneath the tallest of the trees. I’d step on them just for the sound of the crunch. I’d raise my head to find lazy clouds drifting silently, and unannounced, across a boundless expanse of azure sky. I’d listen for their wings, as birds danced on currents of air, like leaves in a light wind. I’d watch them land like feathers, on twigs as light as breath, but strong as a man whose own back bends under the weight of his brother. I’d sit by the water and watch the reflection of that same sky, with those same clouds, a mirror image of the miraculous. I’d put my head in my hands and thank God that I was fortunate enough to have had an abundance of these moments while living out my years amid the beauty of this ancient, sacred garden. And I would feel sad for those who spent their lives inside, or captivated by the city.