We count it.
Let it determine the rhythms of our life.
Or rather dictate the hectic pace at which we live.
Perhaps we’ve lost the rhythm.
Of the moment.
The savouring of the bright orange & yellow of falling autumn leaves.
The drinking of summer’s warm rays on our skin.
The huddling together in front of a fire to fend of winter’s cold.
The exuberance of new life as blossoms and birth paint our world.
Reading Roald Dahl to my children.
Seeing the moments & pictures Dean Koontz paints with words.
Closing your eyes, tasting the vibrations of exquisite music, letting your soul be mesmerised.
Kissing your other half.
Feeling souls melt into one single being.
Laughing uncontrollably with your daughter on your lap.
Embracing that hug.
Just a moment longer.
Letting love, acceptance flow wordlessly from one being to another.
Perhaps the immeasurable moments are filled with immeasurable meaning.
As they stretch beyond the counting of seconds and minutes and hours.
A meal shared.
Perhaps we rush so eagerly towards tomorrow, we forget to taste today.
Perhaps we worry so about progress.
Forgetting infinite finite moments, the fibre of our being.
May we forget time.
May we savour & enjoy.
Braided into life.
Feeling it rub against our being.
May we be.
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