The Present Breath

Biking home from beach and very satisfying ocean swim, at magic hour, I stopped near my house, on a rise where you can still see sky and all the way to the mountains, and where there is a little park, with whorls of long grasses. That light, just the moment after the last bit of the sun has sunk behind the horizon, and everything glows, and your vision starts to play tricks on you. That light embraced the whorls of grasses, and the particular gold of them, dry and almost in sheafs, hints of green in the tenacity of other plantings - that deep gold, those traces of green, colours that take the path that goes from my eyeballs to my heart, and further, into my soul and everything that made me who I am. The peace, solace, the little wind that rises to rustle the grass, the description of ages on top of ages carried on that breeze. The giddy, lustful time right before all becomes sere, and fuel for fire. I could live in that moment, the sweetness of the smell, the warm wind on my bare arms, all time before and forever stilled and captured on this in-breath.