The morning has the feel of Goa. Quiet, lazy, relenting. As if it didn’t mind you standing by the periphery, watching the world go by. Observing in silence and a disengaged measure of peace. A few wisps lick the horizon of a nigh cloudless sky, as if they, too, are willing to simply watch from the side and be at peace.
The sun lights on every surface, casting shadows within the grass, so deep and alive you can almost feel it growing. And if not, at least know such a thing is not to far a stretch to believe.
On mornings like this, indolent and somehow set apart, it is not difficult to believe in a world at peace. If not now, someday. A world where all is quiet and growing and birds’ sweet unassuming song.
A peace you can feel, for the first time in days or months or perhaps all your life that you finally can breathe, and that what you take in is more than just air. It’s a measure of life itself, taken in small amounts because too much of it might send you somewhere beyond what you see and feel, into a place of wonder filled not with air as giver of life, but with the Maker of air and breath and life and death.
But for now, even thinking of all those things feels out of place and peculiar. A shimmering reflection on the edge of a murky puddle, the sparkling edge so bright that you can’t even look at it head on. So you glance away because it is too brilliant to behold. But you know it’s there still, shining. Sparkling. Rippling when the faintest breath of a wind passes through.
Like it passes through you as you sit on the edge of a morning so clear you can almost look through it and beyond into the blue sky. Almost, but not quite.
But the almost is enough for a morning like this.
Because, surrounded by peace growing like grass in the sun, with the dove’s mourning low and skittering flight, sorrow blends with a measure of joy. And that single measure is enough to make you smile. To know that peace, real peace, isn’t too far away. It shines from the edge and bids you to glance back once again and feel, for a moment, it isn’t too bright to gaze upon for a while. Isn’t too harsh to take in, like the sun. Or a thousand suns.
Like the breath of all the world. Or like life itself and the Maker of it.