Beauty both aches and brings joy. Time escapes like the breath, each one a reminder that nothing, no matter how exquisite, or especially how exquisite, lasts.
The smoke from small fires rises like wisps as the light bleeds into the vastness over the mountains. How do I learn to sit still with it all? To both hold it and let it go at the same time.
If I could learn how to rest in each moment would I cease to grieve for what passes before my eyes like an exhalation of dawn, and then is gone?