Friday, June 24, 2005


June 24, 2005
6:30 PM

Alone at the reservoir.

On a day like this,
I’d rather not be inside pushing a pen
or manning a computer.

I’d even prefer not to be
in the company of friends
if that company necessitated
meeting indoors.

I’m far too captivated watching
the sparrows skim the surface
of the reservoir. The water’s play
is far too beautiful a song
to leave it behind
for another sort of din.

This place is not
the most beautiful I know,
but no one else shares with me
the beauty of this moment.

And so it becomes sacred,
and I, its only witness.

This span of time is unrepeatable:
The water will never ascend
to fall back down again
in quite the same way it does now;
the whippoorwill may never
sing this song just so again.

And somehow I,
a pauper amidst majesty,
am blessed to see,
to feel,
to hear this moment
in this place...

I am so alive,

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George MacDonald

"Home is ever so far away in the palm of your hand, and how to get there it is of no use to tell you. But you will get there; you must get there; you have to get there. Everybody who is not at home, has to go home."

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