I closed my eyes and think of forest whispers
The sound of wind passing through pines,
Releasing their scent.
The whirring buzz of cicadas forming a backbeat,
While in the distance, I can hear the sound of waves crashing against rocks
Timeless and endless, so ancient and basic,
So mesmerizing,
I can hear the cry of a hawk flying over.
Despite my closed eyes,
I can see that my time is insignificant,
Both that which came before me
And that which will come ever
Always there.
But what makes this moment,
And my little handful of time, so precious.
Is that its finitude and transience give it value.
It is a tiny vessel that holds little, but fills quickly.
And what I do with the time in my hands
Defines what I am and will be.
The wind and waves are that permanence
That makes my impermanence so precious
And my limited time, a sacred gift.
It is the boundary that gives boundless value.
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