The Pulse

Each day holds itself ready, and we walk through its morning out into these fields and woodlands, feeling the pulse of the day as it throbs through each moment, building up this world around us into a green heartbeat of living. Every day holds the promise of a turning world growing around us and through us. We are part of all of this, even though we like to stand apart, and try to look down. We imagine gods and we imagine ourselves as gods too, but we only walk through this world, we do not own it.

We can reach out to touch it, but each moment of touching passes; and each leaf will turn from green to brown and fall into the past as the world turns away from it. Even memory will forget us, long before we turn into dust we will be gone from the memory of the world as it turns and turns and each day grows then falls and fades into the long past that lies behind everything we see.

Still, though, we walk on into the centre of this day, feeling its pulse around and within us, for as long as we have these times we will hold on to then, stretch them as far as we can before – inevitably – we will have to let go.