Some days I come here to walk. To walk and to stand and to breathe.
I have favourite places (perhaps I shouldn’t admit that, but I do) and when the morning is like this, I like coming here and standing as the light rises and the dew turns to mist around My feet.
Before, I would come as a little break from the intensity of it all; a little peace in that gap when the nocturnals have called it a night and the diurnals are yet to call it a day, before the air begins to hum with the instincts of a thousand billion bodies and with the dreams and worries of seven billion minds. It no longer provides Me with respite, instead I come and stand My ground against the soft waves of consciousness, allowing them to grow more intense and push against and through Me, a gentle testing of strength. I miss them, but they are in My image and it’s right that we suffer as we find our way back to each other, much-grown since we parted.
The light is flattering. It softens shadows and hides the wrinkles of the world, and as sure as the trees stand proud above Me, each blade of grass beneath Me glistens with the expectation of a new start. But as I stand in Aurora’s glory I am tired as only One who has seen all of a previous day can understand. I could never grow weary of it, but I feel the soft aching in My ageing flesh and bones, and inside My fractured mind. As the sun begins to crown it pours strength and calm surety into My heart to abide with the pain there. Soon it will be too crowded for Me, and the force of the waves will threaten My balance, but for a little longer I will bear it and cherish this small slice of life before retreating once more.