procrastination

In one moment, I was running, stumbling along the shore of the atlantic ocean, just a few hours after the sun had stood on the horizon. It was dark, but I could hear the waves, hear them crashing beyond me, behind me, in front of me. It was cool, and when my eyes adjusted, I stepped carefully as close as I could to the foamy edges of the waves. I looked up and around and around, and I swear I could see every single star God had put in the sky. Of course, that's not true. And I broke into a run and ran further and further, until I felt like I was alone. Just me and my God, and His ocean and His stars. And I began to mumble and ramble and spit out words and thoughts and prayers. I just kept going and going, can you hear me? do you even hear me? do you even hear me? And all I heard was waves and crashing waters, the building up of the salty sea and the enormous collapse. And I remembered to listen. So I listened, and I looked. I peered far out, even though I couldn't see anything but the stars and the dim white foaming water. I looked up and into the stars, holding my breath and not blinking. I saw a shooting star. And I don't know what it meant, and God didn't say much else after that. But something about the way the waters continuously fell onto the sand, retreated, and fell back again, something about the fleetingness of one star shooting across the sky for me, made me understand. And the following day, God answered all of my questions that I had spat at Him.

Forward to today, this strange weathered, and gloriously spring day. This day was filled with petals, a sort of spring time snow. They covered the ground, the walkways. We scooped them up and gave them to the passing wind, and watched them swirl around us, and beyond us. I watched them fall from tree to ground, and all around me were pale pink petals. And it was so beautiful it could hurt. They wrapped me in nostalgia, a longing for my childhood, for my adolescence, spent under the same tree at my old house. Back to when I first picked up my camera. I held a fistful of petals before opening my palm and watching them all fly away without hesitation, giving themselves to the air and eventual ground. And whether they were to be stepped on or blown further and further away, they just leapt.