Eastern Light

A harvest of light this morning.  Eastern light moving down an eastern hillside. The inevitable creating the eternal, or as close as I will know of it.  Constant beyond anniversary, beyond reason.  A long moment of grace. Good fortune I have with wonder at hand every morning: a step outside into day's first light dancing down the trees, wrapping round brown trunks, moving through green leaves, across the woodland floor. The quietest movement I've ever not heard.  Effortless, this gift of gifts.

Eastern light.