Traditionally at the end of day a bugle would play “The Last Post” signifying the end of a day’s activities.  The composer, like so many nights, is lost to history. Tonight it simply is a moment of reverie at the end of a sojourn to celebrate blessed goodness and savour every great feast.  At the tide line the yellow flag warns of a moderate hazard.  An undertow, some strong currents and moderate surf.  Overlooking the water at end of day the calm is deceiving. The kind of trickery that local sidewalks play.  Things look ok but every step or stroke is challenged by ever changing conditions.

The denuded tree, just above the tide-line, is witness to populations of birds in times gone by.  The horse a remnant of more traditional trails.  The sky a constant parabola for sun. Scanning the horizon there is hope embedded in the spinning planets, suns, moons and daily tides.  In the midst of winter (as Albert Camus puts it)I found within me an incredible summer. Escaping winter to find summer warmth is not a metaphysical posture. Yet it hints that at the locus of transition there is a path of points that pave the way. There is research that shoulders natural vitamin D and more studies that support changes of routine however the very presence of sun seekers testifies to a desire for change.

Separating sky from mountain the palm trees wave in the late-afternoon sea breezes.  The refreshing humidity nurtures the vegetation.  The steadfastness of seasons and the very greening of what to the naked eye is a dry zone bear witness to a created order that supersedes our understanding.  The yellow flag may issue a moderate warning to eyes who have ears to hear.  The commandment about not stealing may apply to every sun seeker.  Like the moisture in the sea breeze have we returned nurture to the land?

There is a bleeding sun washing across the sky.  The sun tears, like the bugle, punctuating another holy day.  Another day, like everyday, set apart for God.  Years ago a friend taught me to seek splendor in very ordinary things. The past weeks have underscored the ordinary with fingerprints of almighty goodness. Leaving more than memory behind may be an act of worship. The last post is simply the end of a day announcing that tomorrow our living will again be in the hands of God.

 

 

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