Birdsong and Sunrise

The present moment is the hardest to stay in. Yet it is the moment that brings the most peace. The existential crisis growing, as we dig into the past, searching, and dream of something different for the future, hoping.

How do we stay, but move. Reflect, grow, but stay. What is it about time travel that is so alluring, yet there is nothing more beautiful than this sunrise, these birds chirping in this very moment.

I will miss this view.

The same way I miss the early days of my youth. Not my youth of arguments and discipline, no. I’m talking about my youth of backyards and big skies, swinging so high my toes could reach above the treetops, the giant maples spreading up and out toward the sun. And if I closed my eyes, it felt as though I was flying. Not flying toward something, nor flying away from. Just free.

I will miss this view.

The same way I oddly miss the smell of cigarettes on a summer morning at sunrise. Listening to the birds singing, sky still cloaked in the gray-green overlay of that magical hour leading into the dawn. Listening to the birds singing, with a father who would soon head off to work. A father that would never know just how long those summer morning memories would stay with me. Just safe.

I will miss this view.

But, will it be the only thing I miss of this place? This place that doesn’t anchor me the way that home, that backyard, those summer mornings anchored me. To feel neither held nor free, always searching for what now feels elusive.

Yet, the view is the gift, the one thing to hold onto. This moment of sunrise and birdsong.