There’s a flower called a Columbine that I love. It’s a green, leafy plant that puts out lots of blue flowers with white centers in May. The flowers are tough little things. They can handle wind and rain pretty well. It’s not everybody’s idea of the perfect flower, but I love them.
The house I always wanted is gone now, but I’ll always remember its peeling yellow paint and mis-matched red trim. The bad kitchen and the falling down shed. The wide screened porch was out of place in a fishing village, but it was a great place to sit and read and listen to the harbor sounds. The front yard was swampy and rocks filled the back yard, but there was peace in that house for me.
I don’t know many people who like the smell of low tide, but it has always been one of my favorite things. It is the beginning and the end, life and death. Some how I find all of nature present it that one scent. I’ll drive miles and miles to sit at low tide and have the wind blow in my face. It’s about the most perfect that things can be.
There is a moment of dizziness when you have pushed yourself as far as you can go and you must pause to consider if this is it or if more is possible. Sometimes it comes on the basketball court, other times sitting at a computer keyboard, often just between two people. As your heart races and your chest heaves, your mind reels and you see he expanse of all that is and can be. It’s a moment of perfection. The infinite is possible in that moment, but the abyss yawns as well. The tension in that choice is life and life is beautiful.
-- I wrote this in April, 2004. I recently found it while cleaning up my hard drive and thought its sentiments were worth sharing.