I am at the amphitheater on Flagstaff Mountain.
The sunrise was and is beautiful.
To the south a lightening storm flashed in the semi-light.
To the north scattered clouds.
The path of the sun had a clear horizon with light and scattered clouds between it and my vantage point.
I would love to have heard the sunrise in its own quietness, but others had come to see it, thinking not of the sounds of silence that precede that moment of Truth.
My thoughts quietly ushering in the day were mostly of my love and choosing her of all whom I know, to be there in my mind and heart.
Yet even as I write I am alert to those who banter of the need to share with many the love that is felt in one’s being.
In being I enfold my love.
If it be too tight an enclosure, then free her I must.
But can it be more wrong to love one than to love many?
The softness of the dawn turns to the growing light of morning.
The sun climbs to its appointed orb, somewhat hidden by the wisps of clouds stretching across the sky, embracing not nor truly dimming the lighted globe as it continues ever on its way.
Yes, I think of my love and wonder at this thing called love . . . and this other thing called growth.
Question does my heart the conflict these two bring to the intellect.
Grays surround me now, as the sun seems hidden from my view.
A chipmunk skitters across my view just at that point in the periphery of my vision where dimensions bleed into each other and one glimpses yet unseen things felt only in the heart.
Grays that take their key from bark of trees and shaded limbs that hover overhead, rocks and earth and growing greenness waiting patiently for the warmth of later day and nurturing light and energy.
I, too, want for warmth of later day and the nurturing of light in my mind and heart, that I might know my path and myself.